


The Greater Good

by Woollycas



Category: Schitt's Creek, Supernatural
Genre: As much as Dean can, Canon Compliant, Case Fic, Crossover, DCBB2019, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Drunk Cas, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Sam/Rowena is just implied, Sharing a Bed, Witches, Worried Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woollycas/pseuds/Woollycas
Summary: Dean, Cas, and Sam head to the town of Schitt’s Creek to investigate a death that may be part of a bigger supernatural conspiracy. While Sam lays low and chases the cause behind the death, Dean and Cas must go undercover to learn more about the odd little town, and the people that inhabit it.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Johnny Rose/Moira Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 255
Collections: DCBB 2019





	The Greater Good

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the DCBB 2019. 
> 
> I had this idea in my head after watching the Schitt's Creek episode, Dead Guy in Room 4 (season 4, episode 1). What if the death wasn't natural causes? What if Sam, Dean, and Cas had to investigate? 
> 
> The wonderful and amazing art for this story is by [amyoatmeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyoatmeal/pseuds/amyoatmeal). Their work makes me so happy. Go give it love [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341125). 
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader, [SoloArcana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloArcana/pseuds/SoloArcana). They made my work 1000% better!
> 
> Thank you, [whichstiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel), for encouraging me to write these words down on paper and not just in my head. 
> 
> Finally, apologies to any Canadian readers out there. I know Schitt's Creek is in Canada, but since this is set in the Supernatural universe, I had to move the town just south of the border.

“Sam? Hey, we’re back,” Dean yells down into the bunker as he and Cas walk down the wrought-iron staircase.

No answer. The bunker is quiet, aside from the usual thrum of machines. Dean starts to call for his brother again when they reach the war room.

“I don’t think he’s here, Dean.”

Dean looks back at Cas.

“Uh, what makes you think that, Colombo,” Dean responds, his words stinging the air. 

Tensions are running a bit high between the two of them at the moment. They’ve been driving most of the night after a botched wraith hunt in Reno. Okay, not botched, but not perfect. They took care of things —they always do— but Dean would have preferred Sam there as well. It’s not that Cas isn’t good at the job. Quite the opposite, really. It’s just that Dean doesn’t have to constantly worry with someone else on the hunt. Or that’s the story he tells himself after watching Cas walk around the map table, sporting a bruised right cheek, split lip, and scuffed trench coat. Dean clamps down the anger and worry boiling in his gut, and dismisses the fleeting impulse to lightly graze his thumb over Cas’s split lip. Things were already tense when Cas agreed to go with Dean on this case. Sam would have eased that situation had he gone. Dean watches Cas’s jaw clench and realizes that if Sam was here now, he would ease the tension of this awkward homecoming, as well.

With his duffel still on his shoulder, Dean looks around the room and heads for the library. Everything seems in order: no books out of call number order, no chairs flipped upside down. He knows Cas had texted when they were about an hour out of Lebanon. What could have called Sam away? 

“Dean, go clean up. I’ll look for Sam.”

Dean hears the tone in Cas’s voice, and looks back. He’s standing in the doorway of the library, his look darker. Dean feels guilt crawl down his gullet and pauses his frustration with Cas for the moment. Cas was only doing his job. He was in no more, or less danger on this hunt than any other one. Why is Dean so worked up about it? More important, why doesn’t Cas just heal himself?

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’m gonna hit the shower. Wraith juice doesn’t age well.” His lighter tone falls flat, and his smile is more of a grimace. Yet, he claps Cas’s shoulder twice before heading back down the hallway to his bedroom. _We’re good_, Dean thinks. _Right?_

Dean drops his duffel in his room, grabs his bathroom gear, and heads to the showers. There’s no sign of Sam in the back hallways of the bunker, either. Once in the shower, Dean quickly dismisses his brother’s absence. As the hot water washes away the grime of the previous day, he replays the events in his head.

It was all routine. The case was a tip-off from another hunter who had passed through weeks ago. Dean knew what they were dealing with before they even hit the Nevada state line, and at the end of it all, it was a simple slice-and-dice. Dean pauses his thoughts to lather his hair with shampoo, and he pushes his hair into a mini faux hawk. He has to admit, the shower feels good. He stands there, skin splotched with red, soap and water trickling down his freckled limbs.

Passing his hands over his face, his mind wanders back to the final moments of the fight —and Cas. God, he was so stupid. Dean had the thing —he had it! And Cas just _had_ to intervene. So what if he had been tackled to the ground. Maybe he didn’t have a good handle on his weapon, and maybe Cas was doing the right thing by helping. Dean doesn’t like to think about it because when he does, he remembers Cas reaching down, angel blade out, and slicing just a half-inch shy of where it needed to be. He remembers Cas falling back, the monster lashing out at him. He remembers Cas falling hard, a gash welling bright red blood on his cheek. His action had given Dean enough time to reposition himself to finish off the creepy bastard. Cas was just doing his job- and yet Dean can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t help but wonder why this pissed him off so much. And instead of digging too deeply, first he made sure Cas was okay, and then he exploded at the guy. He watched Cas shut down on him in real time, but he didn’t care. It was better Cas know how upset he was, than to let that happen again. Cas didn’t fight back, and his anger quickly evaporated into silent contempt. God, the ride home was an awkward mess that he’d rather not dwell on.

Instead, he turns off the water and stands in the shower, head bowed, eyes closed, just breathing. After a beat, he reaches for a towel, slips into his Dead Guy robe, and pads back to his room.

The shower did him some good, and as he dresses, he sheds the clouded thoughts that plague him. He’s still pissed at Cas, but a big breakfast and finding his dingbat brother seems to be higher on the priority list now. He dons his favorite green henley and a pair of lounge pants. If he can help it, he’s doing nothing more than eating, sleeping, and binging movies, in that order, for the rest of the day.

Just as Dean leaves his room to head for the kitchen, he hears noises further down in the bunker. More than likely, Cas has found Sam in the basement research room. Dean doesn’t want to see Cas right now, but he does want to see his brother and find out what he’s been up to while they were gone. He had stayed behind because all three of them didn’t need to be there for such a simple hunt. The hunter network was relying on the bunker lore more as well. Sam thought it best to stay behind when a group of hunters called needing more help than he had in his brain.

Dean wanders down to the basement marveling at how seamlessly his brother seems to be accepting and thriving at guiding their fellow hunters. If this is the compromise Sam has to make with himself to exist in this world, then Dean’s happy for him. It’s not like he’s not going to head out on a hunt every now and again. Sometimes they’re just fun, and when Sam turns off that damn emo brain of his, he’s a damn good hunter.

The noise grows louder as he turns the corner into the storage room. What’s Sam up to? Spring cleaning? It’s fall.

There were boxes and paper and —_stuff_ — everywhere. And there’s Sam, on a step stool, rifling through a box in the far corner of the room.

“What the hell man? I just organized this place this summer!”

Barely looking up, Sam responds, “hmm, this stuff over here wasn’t. I found a bunch of unorganized papers, and I wanted to take a look.” His voice trails off at the end, clearly absorbed in what he’s reading. 

Dean stands there a couple seconds, incredulous, but he can’t fault Sam. There were a couple boxes he kind of just left on the shelf. He didn’t want to deal with them at the time, and well, time got away from him. Sam likes digging through the more arcane things anyway.

“So, uh, we’re back.”

Sam looks up this time.

“I know. Cas was just down here too. He says you’re ‘in a mood’, and that you drove all night, without a break, in dead silence.”

Dean thinks Sam’s smirk is unnecessary.

“It wasn’t complete silence. The radio was on. And I can’t help it that Cas is a dumbass.” Leaving it at that, Dean continues, “you want breakfast? I’m starving and tired, and once my belly is full I plan on sleeping through an entire season of Game of Thrones.”

“No, thanks. I made a smoothie after my run earlier. Rowena was here yesterday wanting my help with the history of a spell. We started with all the usual searches, but, uh, she had to go and I thought I’d tackle these boxes. I doubt I’ll find anything useful, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Rowena was here? I thought you were helping the other hunters.”

“I was.” Sam gets off the stool and opens another box. This one was on the table, and contains what appear to be newspapers. They’re all in various stages of yellowing. Sam takes the top paper out and starts scanning it.

“And?”

“And what? It was a success.”

“And Rowena was here?”

Sam is clearly engrossed in reading the newspaper now, and not giving Dean a second thought. Or he’s ignoring him on purpose. Dean is curious what Rowena wanted. She’s reliable, in her own witchy way, but he still questions how trustworthy she can be for the most part. He just thinks it’s interesting that she was here when the whole gang wasn’t.

“Dean, I’ve seen this town somewhere recently.” Sam points at the paper. _Okay_, _so changing the_ _subject it is_, Dean thinks.

“I don’t care, man. I’m tired. I’m hungry. These papers look like they’re from the 1950s.”

“They are. The last one is dated October 16, 1957. A year before the bunker was abandoned.”

Dean looks at the paper, and a sly grin slowly spreads across his face.

“Schitt’s Creek Courier? That’s a joke, right? There’s a town out there called Schitt’s Creek?”

Sam’s face is having a battle between disgruntled contempt and gleeful joy. The joy wins out.

Both brothers burst out laughing. Sam looks down at the paper again, and wipes tears from his eyes.

“Dean, it gets better. The header says ‘Est. by Horace Schitt in 1885. _Horace Schitt._”

Both brothers start another round of laughs. Dean feels like maybe his lack of sleep is making him delirious. It isn’t that funny. The second round of laughter must alert Cas, as he walks in after a couple moments.

“Is everything alright in here?”

Dean instantly sobers.

“Yeah, Cas. Check out the name of this town,” Sam says, still chuckling.

Cas walks closer to Sam and the newspaper, stopping next to Dean.

Dean watches Cas squint a bit and tilt his head, as he so often does when puzzling out something all-too-human. As he watches Cas’s lips move while silently reading the newspaper’s name, Dean’s angry resolve crumbles a tiny bit more.

“I fail to see the humor in what appears to be a small town missive of inconsequential happenings. Unless, of course, that is the humor. I don’t think we should be laughing at the minutiae of small towns. Lebanon itself is quite small.”

Dean rolls his eyes, not wanting to engage.

“Cas, no, it’s...” Sam trails off.

If Dean was currently talking to Cas, he’d help his brother out, but instead he thinks now would be a good time to make those pancakes he’s been obsessing over.

“I’m out. Sam, if you so much as _tell _me there’s a new case, I will burn those papers. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me for anything else.” Without acknowledging Cas, Dean heads for the kitchen.

***

Dean eats his breakfast alone, Cas having read that he’s not wanted around, and Sam busy with his research for Rowena. He also follows through on his promise to sleep through an entire season of Game of Thrones. He’s asleep on the couch in the Dean Cave before the opening credits end on the first episode.

He wakes hours later to the sound of Sam’s voice. He’s spread out on the couch, feet in Cas’s lap. He blinks, still groggy, rubs his eyes and recoils his feet back to his corner of the couch. When the hell did Cas join him?

He scowls at Cas. Cas looks back at him, almost daring him to snap, but Dean remains quiet. He’s sitting up now, and his feet are firmly on the area rug on the bunker floor. Sam’s voice is getting louder from down the hallway. Dean thinks he sounds nerd-excited, which means he’s found a case.

“Dean, I’ve found a case!”

Dean groans and watches Sam enter the room. He watches him swivel his head from him to Cas, both sitting stiffly at opposite ends of the sofa. Sam’s eyebrows raised at the sight, but the story on his tablet is too exciting for him to be distracted with the happenings in the room.

“Cas, you’re here, too. Good. I think I found something connected to those newspapers. Or rather, I remembered where I read about that town.”

“Sam, I told you, I will burn those papers if you found a case.”

“Well, Dean, I did find a case. And I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to be a part of this. Remember Rose Video?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s sleepy confusion sticks like spiderwebs in the corners of his mind. What did a long-defunct video chain have to do with anything?

“Well, check this out. Johnny Rose, owner of Rose Video, is also the owner of the town —or, well, his son is.”

Before his brain can stop him, Dean says, “David Rose?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know his name?”

Dean pauses and clears his throat. “They’re famous, Sam. They lost everything in a fraud case a number of years back. Disappeared from, well, everywhere.”

“Well, according to the internet, they didn’t disappear from everywhere. They moved to the town of Schitt’s Creek, the only thing the government let them keep.”

“And how is this a case?”

“They’re not the case, or at least I hope they’re not. They’re the hook to get you to come on the case with me. There was a death at a motel in Schitt’s Creek two days ago. Older man found dead by the motel staff. No known relatives. Coroner found no foul play. It appears the guy died of a heart attack.”

“And...?” Dean is starting to feel like he never woke up and he’s in some kind of dream. Sam is making no sense.

“Yeah, I wasn’t convinced there was a case at first either. I saw the death pop up on my hunter scanner earlier, and dismissed it. What’s one death in a roadside motel after all? However, when I saw those newspapers, I was a little shocked at the coincidence, and curious about the town. The newspapers were mostly filled with just small town crap, the farm report, local gossip, marriages and births, and all that stuff. Even the obituaries were run of the mill.”

“You’re killing me. Of course you’d find some 70 year old boring newspapers exciting,” Dean interrupts.

Sam huffs, tucking his hair behind his ear, and starts scrolling through his tablet.

“I started noticing a pattern to the deaths in the obits, Dean. I don’t know what your thoughts are but deaths usually don’t follow a pattern.”

This piqued Dean’s interest a little. A ritualistic murder-a-thon is always interesting.

“Are you saying these are ceremonial deaths?” Cas interjected. “Does this most recent death fit the pattern?”

“Yes and no. See, the pattern stopped in 1991. The deaths became random again —or at least the pattern changed, and no matter how I track it, I can’t find a new pattern. Maybe this most recent death is a coincidence, but something is happening in Schitt’s Creek.”

“You know what I think, Sam? I think you’ve been cooped up in this bunker too long and you’re ready to make up a case just to have an excuse for a road trip. Don’t you have important work to do for Rowena?” Dean hopes that last comment sticks to Sam a bit, and he starts to curl back into the couch. He realized almost too late that Cas is still sitting at the other end, and lowers his feet to the ground again, half lying on the arm of the couch, arms awkwardly covering his chest.

“Sam, I am interested in your case,” Cas said. “Maybe I can take a look and help. I can be helpful at times, if you let me.”

Dean feels like that last comment is aimed at him, but he keeps quiet, glancing at Cas before turning to stare at the paused TV screen. The scratch on Cas’s face is gone and so is his split lip. If Dean really admits it to himself, his earlier anger and worry have dissipated some, leaving him feeling awkward and unwilling to process why he always ends up feeling this way around Cas.

“Great, Cas. I was thinking of expanding the records search to surrounding communities, maybe the pattern is part of something larger. The one thing I can think of that seems weird, is that this recent death is the first in a while of a non-resident dying while traveling through Schitt’s Creek. Before 1991, the pattern of deaths were all from people traveling. It was really hard to distinguish at first, but once I put that together I was able to track things quicker. Why did travelers stop dying —and why did it start again?”

“Where is this town?” Dean questions.

“Uh, it’s in upstate New York, close to the Canadian border. So, you know, lots of tourists, although all the people who died that fit the pattern had been traveling alone. The newspapers had quite the morbid sense of humor, writing a column on occasion. I would love to see how things progressed after the 1950s, but there aren’t any articles online. I only had death records to go by, without the local anecdotal notes.”

“So what happened in 1991?” Dean was finally interested.

This more than likely is a case. Sam didn’t make it up and the coincidence of travelers dying is too interesting.

“The Rose family bought Schitt’s Creek. They obviously didn’t move there —probably had never stepped foot in the place, but I found the deed to the town on some gossip site archive.” Sam pauses, looking between Cas and Dean. “Listen, I know this doesn’t seem like much, but we’ve looked into things on a lot less. If the deaths are starting again, wouldn’t it be better if we’re there to stop them?”

Dean agrees, and maybe a road trip and another case will help him forget about the last. He doesn’t want to give Sam the upper hand though.

“I mean, maybe.” Then Dean grins, glancing quickly at Cas before setting his gaze on Sam. “Why not? You said the Rose family lives there now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if the case is a bust, maybe I’ll still get to ‘interrogate’ Alexis Rose.”

Dean’s grin widens and the tip of his tongue sticks out just beyond his teeth as he stands.

Sam’s shoulders slump and he walks away, head shaking. From down the hallway Dean hears, “Be ready in fifteen, guys.”

Cas gets up from the couch and leaves without saying a word to Dean, presumably to gather fresh things. Dean’s grin fades as he leaves to gather his own things, the fleeting thought of _Dumb move, Winchester_ echoing in the back of his mind.

***

They’re packed and ready to go in just over half an hour. It’s still mid-afternoon, and by Sam’s calculations, if they drive straight through they should make it to New York by late the next morning. The car ride is a less-awkward endeavor with Sam there. With Cas safely ensconced in the back seat, Dean doesn’t have to see him, except for the occasional glance in the rearview or two. Cas is dutifully reading from the box of newspapers they brought along. Sam is researching more about their alleged vic. Their standard MO is to roll into town as FBI agents. Dean wonders if that’ll work with so little to go on with this case.

They still have several hundred miles to go before reaching their destination when Sam speaks up.

“Dean, I don’t think the FBI approach is going to work. There just isn’t enough to go on. There isn’t even an active investigation. I think we need to try a different approach.”

“Like what? Motel inspectors? Journalists?”

“I think we should split up, try a separate approach. Maybe two of us go in together, get a room, hopefully the room where the man died at the motel, and then the other one comes into town later. There’s a town nearby, Elmdale, that has a library that would be good to stop at first.”

Dean looks into the rearview mirror to see Cas looking up, directly back at him. He has clearly stopped reading the old papers and is showing interest in Sam’s idea.

“Okay, so how does that change our cover? Two FBI agents and a journalist?”

“No FBI, Dean. I’m thinking tourists. Maybe Niagara Falls? It isn’t too far away.” Sam pauses and clears his throat. Cas interrupts what Sam starts to say.

“I can be a tourist, Sam. Niagara Falls is one of the most breathtaking phenomena on the planet. I have visited it many times and could pretend I was just there.”

“Uh, yeah, Cas. That sounds good. I was thinking you could pose as one of the tourists.” Sam looks sideways and continues. “And Dean, before you clam up and reject this whole idea, I think you should be the other tourist. I think you guys can pretend to have just been to the falls and now there’s something wrong with your car.” Before Dean can even start to sputter a rebuttal, Sam continues, “You’re going to have to hurt your car, Dean —so you have a reason to stay in Schitt’s Creek. There’s a garage there, Bob’s Garage.”

“If you think for one second I will let someone else touch Baby, you’re out of your freaking mind, Sam!” Dean starts to hyperventilate a little. All panic about spending time alone with Cas in a motel room is superseded by Sam’s demonic thoughts of purposely damaging the Impala. He’s been hanging out with Rowena way too much. “Hard pass, Samuel. Let’s find something else.”

“Jesus, Dean, find a part that’s easy to fix that you’d have to order. This’ll give you guys an opportunity to explore the town, get to know the people. Meanwhile, I can get research done in Elmdale. Schitt’s Creek has a small library too, so I’ll be around but I think we’ll blend in better if we split up.”

“So, what, Cas and me are just two dudes going on vacation together? To the honeymoon capital?” Dean swallows thickly, thoughts of sharing a motel room with Cas flooding back.

“You’re the one that said it, Dean, not me. People take vacations. Make up something.” Sam goes back to looking at his tablet, indicating his belief that the plan is settled.

Dean continues to drive, staring at the road ahead of him, stewing over why he is so irrationally panicked about purposefully damaging his car and wondering what a good cover story would be. Dean is so lost in his thoughts that he almost misses Cas speak up in the back, quietly.

“We could be brothers, on a road trip.”

Sam barks out a laugh, but continues to look down. “Simple but effective. You won’t have to stretch your acting skills too much at least.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Cas is not his brother. Dean doesn’t want to define Cas, he just doesn’t want people to think they’re brothers. He’s got one of those and one is enough.

“Yeah, like anyone would believe we’re brothers.” Dean tells himself to shut up and then looks back at Cas in the rear view mirror. Cas has a look of steely defiance.

“Then be newlyweds, Dean. if you believe the brother road trip schtick too unbelievable. Cas, you willing to pretend to be married to Dean for a couple of days?”

“I’ll do what the case deems necessary, Sam.”

Dean senses tension in Cas’s voice and glances back again. He is sitting up straight, eyes wide, not looking back at Dean.

“It’s settled then. Now you two are newlyweds on your way home from your honeymoon in Niagara Falls. Perfect cover.” As an afterthought, he adds, “You’re still going to have to hurt your car.”

There is a moment of silence while Dean gathers his thoughts for his next argument when Sam adds as an after-after thought, “And now you can’t flirt with Alexis Rose.”

Dean isn’t even thinking about that. He’s thinking about the logistics of being fake-married to Cas. Would they hold hands? Would they hug all the time? Would they have to get a room with only one bed to sell the story? Would they kiss in public? His mind is reeling. He can’t do this. And he’s still mad at Cas, although his mind draws a blank about why now.

“I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking that you’re putting too much thought into our cover. This is stupid.”

“Whatever, Dean. You’ll thank me when we can blend into the town. Small towns, especially ones with secrets aren’t the most welcoming of places. You know that.”

“Fine, we’ll act as brothers, Cas.” The abrupt reversal of course surprises even Dean. _Damnit, what is my problem?_

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean looks back —he keeps doing that— hearing the hint of resignation in Cas’s voice. He’s just agreeing with whatever the plan is, not giving input of his own. What does his tone mean? Does he want to be fake married to Dean? Dean’s agreeing to go along with Cas’s original idea. _What is his problem?_

They drive in silence for some time, pulling over once to swap driving duties with Sam. While Dean stews in his own flustered anger, Sam drives in the early morning hours. Cas remains silent in the back. Dean can hear the occasional rustle of paper and assumes he is still reading old papers. It’s maybe six in the morning and Dean is more on autopilot than anything at this point. His mind is drifting as he watches the first slight glimmer of daylight creep across the horizon. He isn’t convinced there is a case here that requires all three of them, but he’ll be damned if he’ll leave Cas behind to do god-knows-what on his own, and it was Sammy’s goofball idea, so he’s stuck with the current course. On the other hand, he can’t help but appreciate the road trip and the thought of maybe getting Moira Rose's autograph.

Thinking of the Rose family, he can’t quite conceptualize them in this one-horse town. He just prays their existence in this town isn’t tied to the case. Let these ridiculously rich --now poor, he reminds himself —people live in their little bubble of a world. Whatever malevolent entity that is in the town better not ruin one more tiny part of what made his life livable as a kid.

While Sam clearly has the research of the town in-hand, Dean starts thinking about warming up to the townspeople. If there is a secret, the town won’t welcome strangers. In fact, they’ll be targets if the deaths have started again. Dean chuckles mentally when he thinks about the fact that the town doesn’t know they have an angel in their pocket, and then sours when he thinks about the fact that his angel isn’t as all-powerful as he once was, or at least as all-powerful as Dean thought he was.

Thinking of Cas, he turns in the passenger seat to look at him. Cas is staring ahead, hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Dean’s words cut through the silence of the car. “I just — you can’t be such a dumbass sometimes, ok?”

“It’s a good thing marriage is off the table for us because you’re going to have to try a lot harder than that.”

_A comedian_, Dean thinks.

“What do you want me to say, Cas? I thought you made a dumbass move back there in Nevada, and I’m not ok with it.”

“I’m fine Dean, and if it wasn’t for my ‘dumbass’ move, you wouldn’t have been free to take the thing out.”

Dean huffs and decides to give Cas this one. They’ve got a lot to do in the next couple of days. Dean turns forward again, glancing at Sam who’s staring stone-faced at the road ahead of him.

***

At around 11 in the morning, they finally enter the outskirts of Schitt’s Creek, New York. Sam is still driving, and while Dean was resting earlier, he is awake enough now to see the sign on the edge of town.

“What the fuck?”

“What?”

“The sign, Sam! Jesus, is that for real?” Dean gapes as they drive by.

Sam snickers but keeps driving.

“What is wrong with this town?” Dean is beside himself. “Can we turn back?”

Sam slows the Impala, but doesn’t stop.

“You want to go back to the sign?”

“I want to make sure it was what I think it was.”

Dean’s eyes bug out and he swivels around to look back at the large sign. The sign is like most billboards on the outskirts of small towns. They’ve seen many welcoming them to any number of communities across the United States, friendly welcomes and quaint slogans and pretty scenery. This one has all of that — well, all of that and then some.

Sam pulls around and drives up to the sign. Dean pops out of the car as Sam parks. Dean stands at the side of the road in awe of what he is witnessing. The sign has the slogan “Where everyone fits in” over a picturesque creek, and a woman bent over in the creek, with a man standing right behind her. If that wasn’t bad enough, there is a sign, tactlessly added, pointing at the couple that simply says, “Don’t worry, it’s his sister”.

“Sammy, Sammy, come on, get a picture of me and Cas. This one’s for the books.”

“What books, Dean? All your pictures are a disorganized mess on your phone.”

Dean isn’t going to argue with that. He is also laughing too much to care and opens the back door of the Impala to motion Cas out of the back seat. “C’mon Cas. Road trip picture time.”

“Dean, this is a highly offensive sign. The newspapers I read indicated no such deviance.”

“Listen, I have no clue what this town is really about, but the highly offensive nature of this sign is what makes it hilarious, and we’re getting a picture together.” And with that he swings his arm around Cas’s neck to position them in front of the sign, and grins wildly for Sam to snap the picture.

Dean takes his phone back from Sam and looks at the photo. In it Dean is smiling brightly, with his arm around Cas. Cas is standing straight ahead, but his head is turned looking at Dean with a look of confusion and gentle exasperation. Dean’s heart flutters a little just looking at it.

“Okay Dean, you’ve had your fun, but we’re really close to the town now and I think we should split up before we’re seen by others. So, maybe we should actually head to Elmdale first, drop me off at a car rental, and you two head back here to rent a motel room. I tried to book a room online, but the website for the motel in the town appears to be under construction since 1996.”

So the three of them pile back into the Impala and drive around Schitt’s Creek and on to Elmdale. Dean and Cas drop Sam off in town to rent his own car and head back to their final destination.

***

After the picture, Dean is in better spirits and is actually looking forward to figuring out this case a bit. Dean thinks to himself that they’re in relatively little danger for now. Like most cases, this is the perfect time to warm up to the townsfolk, turn on the charm, and see what the poor and unsuspecting --or possibly complicit-- people can do for them. He and Cas have their cover story, and despite still feeling sick to his stomach, he knows exactly what he needs to do to Baby to give them the other part of their cover story.

They slide into the Schitt’s Creek Motel in early afternoon. The sun is still high in the sky and there isn’t a cloud to be seen. It’s a picture-perfect day, Dean realizes. They park in front of the office and he cuts the engine.

He looks over at Cas in the passenger seat and notices the car next to them. “Take a look beside you, Cas. It’s like a trip down memory lane.” 

“It’s so much like...” Cas looks back at Dean in awe, a slight smile on his face. 

Dean gets out of the car to take a closer look and Cas follows suit. Walking around the front of the other vehicle Dean realizes it’s not quite like Cas’s old Lincoln Continental Mark V. If he’s not mistaken, this one is a 1979 Lincoln Continental Town Car. And it’s black. 

“It’s like if your car and Baby had ...a baby.” He instantly regrets his words, and to cover his awkwardness, he starts, “I mean...”

“Dean, cars can’t have offspring.” Cas chides as he continues to walk around the car, looking in the windows, smile wide. 

Dean can’t help but regret the loss of Cas’s car. It was his first mode of transportation after the loss of his wings. Watching him smile at this similar vehicle makes Dean realize how much Cas must have come to love that ridiculous behemoth of a car. 

“You know Cas, if you ever want to track down your old car, I’d help you. I know with everything with Amara and end of the world, and...” Dean gulps, pausing at the memory, but continues, “Lucifer, you kind of lost track of it. We could find it for you again.”

Cas looks up at Dean and then walks towards him. He looks back down at the car, his pointer finger grazing the hood a fraction. “That sounds like a nice plan. Thank you, Dean. Let’s concentrate on this case first though.” 

Dean stares at Car for a beat or two. Yeah, the case. 

“Right. Okay, let’s do this then. I’ll head in to the office to book our room. You maybe stay here and gather our stuff. I’ll be right back.”

Dean heads inside to the motel office, which doesn’t appear to have been updated in forty years. There’s wood paneling and kitschy country decorations plastering the interior. Most noticeably, there’s a giant stag painting hanging behind the desk. The desk is off to the right and there’s a small couch and concierge table with coffee and cinnamon rolls tucked away in the corner. There’s a man behind the desk, sporting salt and pepper hair and wearing a suit. He looks dignified and out of place for a motel employee, if Dean stops to think about it. Then his mind clicks the pieces together. He knows that face. Or at least a much younger version. This has to be Johnny Rose. His son is the spitting image of him. Dean may have followed the international gossip sites for Alexis Rose, but he often followed the New York gossip sites for news on David Rose too. He isn’t proud of it but he doesn’t have to admit it to anyone, thankfully.

He pauses in the doorway for a second, taking in the absurdity of the room before the man notices him.

“Well, hello there! Welcome! Come in! Welcome, I’m Johnny Rose. Are you here to rent a room?”

The man —Johnny Rose, Dean reminds himself— is way too enthusiastic, but Dean can’t help but be mesmerized anyway. He rented more than his fair share of videos at any and every Rose Video in whatever town they were in when he was a kid. If he was to credit one person for sustaining his love for pop culture, it’d be Johnny Rose. Dean takes a couple steps into the office, realizing that he is just staring at the man.

“Uh, yeah…yes. Please. Uh, a room for two.”

At that moment there is a jingle as the door opens again. Cas walks in, holding the door for a woman dressed in the most absurd way, all black and white and ridiculously patterned. They are murmuring to each other as she passes him, smiling. Getting a closer look, Dean realizes he knows the woman as well.

Vivien Blake!

_Holy Shit._ Dean is in the presence of Vivien Blake.

Vivien _Fucking_ Blake.

Dean follows her, making a complete circle, watching her every move. His brain is short-circuiting. He knows he’s just standing there, mouth agape, unable to hear Johnny. Unable to process Cas sideling up next to him.

“Vivien…Vi…Vivien Bl..Blake. You’re, uh, Vivien Blake.” Dean kicks himself almost instantly after saying it, but what’s done is done. He feels everyone looking at him, even Cas, and his cheeks burn. Moira Rose. It’s Moira Rose. If Johnny Rose fed his pop culture obsession in his youth, Moira Rose fed his daily need for human drama. Sunrise Bay, the soap opera that Moira starred in for many years, was hands-down his secret and guilty pleasure. Anytime Sam was taking a nap and John was thoroughly gone from the motel, he watched, enthralled with the drama — and the slapping.

Dean clears his throat and decides to ignore his outburst.

Johnny looks to Cas and back at Dean. He then looks over at Moira. She kisses his cheek. He responds with, “Hello, Dear.”

Johnny’s attention to Dean temporarily transfers to his wife, which is a good thing since Dean can only stare at the woman in front of him. His mind is short-circuiting on how to proceed. Should he run away? Should he get her autograph? Should he ask her to slap him? No, no that last one would be completely unacceptable, but Dean can’t help but blush slightly just thinking about it. Cas is right there beside him, and he feels Cas’s warmth on his right. He senses Cas’s piercing stare directed at him, but remains unable to look away from Moira Rose.

“John dear, I’ve got a bit of a tete-a-tete with the Jazzagals in a bit. I’m afraid I will have to call off our usual luncheon.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that. Go ahead and enjoy your day though, honey. I’m clearly busy here making sure this fine establishment is full to capacity and the guests are well-cared for.” That last bit he says a little louder than necessary and he glances fleetingly back at Dean and Cas.

After a brief hug, she turns to leave. “Well, I won’t keep you then. This fine looking, if not sartorially challenged, young couple seem to want to stay here. Any devotee of Vivien Blake deserves the best treatment after all.” She winks as she walks past Dean. Dean almost has to grab onto Cas’s arm to steady himself, but somehow manages to stay upright.

Barely audible, Dean mutters, “I’m a big fan.”

He turns to watch her leave and makes eye contact with Cas. Cas’s face is neutral, but Dean’s looked into those eyes one too many times over the years not to know exactly what Cas is thinking. Exasperation at Dean’s idiocy seems to be the main takeaway. He takes a beat, gives Cas a look right back, and turns his attention back to the matter at hand, and Johnny Rose.

“Room for two, please,” he says again, and smiles at Johnny, fake, his mouth hurting slightly.

“Oh, of course. We recently booked out all the rooms but you’re in luck! Let’s see, it looks like Room 4 is available. It includes a comfortable bed, convenient kitchenette, and complementary coasters. I assume you will be sharing a room?”

Simultaneously Cas and Dean respond, “Yes, we’re very close” and “Uh.”

Johnny stares at both of them, uncertain how to proceed. He eventually adds, “There’s no judgment here at the Schitt’s Creek Motel. All are welcome! Are you two just traveling through town on vacation?”

Dean hears his words, and thinks of the sign outside of town. Then he processes Moira’s earlier comment of ‘couple’ and gets the implication that Johnny also thinks they’re a couple. Before he can stop Cas, he hears him respond.

“Yes, we are on a road trip visiting Niagara Falls.”

"Road trip? Is that what the young folks are calling honeymoons these days?” He winks at Dean conspiratorially.

Dean realizes too late the trap they appear to have walked into. Why did they think they were a couple? Cas is, per usual, standing a hairsbreadth too close to Dean, and yes, Dean hadn’t even noticed given it’s been a common thing for them since day one, but they hadn’t even said anything to each other.

Before he can correct him, Johnny barrels on with their check-in information. Room 4, it turns out, is the room where the dead guy was staying, so at least they have that in their favor. The bad news, it has one bed.

“Any chance of getting a cot for the room?” Dean is by no means panicking about sharing a bed with Cas. They hadn’t confirmed or denied what Johnny was assuming. Not to mention, Sam will be coming by later. If he can’t book a room of his own, chances are good he’ll have to sneak into their room to sleep. A cot makes perfect sense under the circumstances.

However, it is at this point that Cas speaks up, revealing that he knows exactly what the conversation is implying and he completely railroads their original bro-trip plan.

“Honey, let’s not bother the man with a request for a completely unnecessary addition to the room. A spare set of towels is all that we require, sir.” Cas’s smile is absurdly fake. Dean would burst out laughing at his attempt at acting if he wasn’t currently pissed that Cas just did that.

“My good man, Stevie will be by in a bit to deliver your towels. In the meantime, I suggest you two weary travelers take a little time to unwind and then have a turn around town. Cafe Tropical is a wonderful place to grab a nice late lunch.”

It’s then that Dean remembers, fake-married or not, his car is the reason they have to stay an extended amount of time in town. He remembers Sam mentioning there was a garage in town, but thinks to ask Johnny again just to lay the groundwork for their cover.

“Mr. Rose, I was wondering if you could direct me to the nearest car repair shop. My car seems to be, uh, experiencing some issues and I’d like to order some parts. Maybe work on it a bit before we hit the road again.”

“Why yes, you’ll want to go to Bob’s Garage. Bob Currie owns the space, and I can give him a ring if you’ll be needing a tow.”

“No, no, no, no, nothing like that. Just noticed some small-_very small_\- issues that should be addressed before another stretch of our long road trip.”

“I thought you said you thought the transmission was ‘making that popping noise again’ as we pulled up to the motel?”

Cas looks inquisitive but Dean can see the mischievous fire lit under those words. What is he doing? Fixing the transmission is no small undertaking. Cas is purposefully messing with him.

“No, nope, dear, just some belts need replacing, maybe the fuel pump at most.”

“Well, I say go talk to Bob. He’ll set you up right. Just tell him Johnny sent you and you’ll get the Friends and Family discount. I’ll ring him up right now to let him know you’re on your way.”

“Um, thanks,” Dean says as he takes the keys from Johnny.

He and Cas head to their room.

The Schitt’s Creek Motel is like so many motels they’ve stayed at over the years: on the edge of town, a run down sign advertising the space, worn siding, and a painted multi-colored brick exterior. This motel sports planters of brightly colored annuals by each room, though, and Dean thinks they’re a nice touch. Clearly, the owners care a bit more than the average motel owners. Dean and Cas step outside together and walk the few hundred paces along an outdoor sidewalk to their room.

“Well, this is it. Do you want to grab our stuff?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Cas wanders back to the car while Dean opens their room. Once again, it’s much like any room they’ve stayed at in the past. For once there isn’t a specific design highlighting the location where they’re staying. Dean feels that the motel is missing out on a highly-marketable design style. Wood wainscoting panels the walls, while one wall sports bright aqua brick, and a double bed populates the space to the right of the door. Further into the room is a table and a mini-kitchenette. There is a bathroom and closet that together fill the back wall. Dean looks back to the bed and sighs. The afternoon escalated a little too fast for him to process it all. But they’re here now. He keeps looking at the bed, thinking about sharing it with Cas tonight, tomorrow night. Heaven forbid they don’t solve this thing, and finds himself thinking about sharing a bed with Cas for the indefinite future. His palms sweat a little. Cas doesn’t even sleep, what’s the big deal?

Cas comes in with their gear, interrupting his thoughts. Dean looks him up and down. He’s carrying Dean’s duffel and sets it down on the credenza opposite the bed, right next to the TV. His coat is wrinkled from sitting in the car for so many hours, and his hair is spiked in various directions. Dean has a momentary compulsion to tame it, but refrains. He just smiles at himself and goes to rifle through his duffel for his bathroom bag. Might as well wash up a bit before heading out to Bob’s Garage.

“Hey, I’m going to clean up a bit. Where’s your bag? You can change after I’m done. I’ll be sure to save you some hot water.”

Cas looks down at himself, his hands coming up to pat down his coat.

“I… I didn’t bring anything, Dean. I’m wearing what I always wear. My grace keeps things clean without need of changing.”

“Right.” Dean looks down, pausing, but doesn’t say anything more. He continues to look through his bag before it dawns on him that his bathroom bag isn’t in his duffel. He forgot to repack it after taking it out at the bunker. It’s currently sitting in the bathroom. _Son of a bitch_.

“Damnit, I forgot my bathroom bag at home.”

Cas comes up beside him to peer into his bag as well. “Hmm, it appears so.” He then leans a little closer to Dean and— sniffs him? Dean pulls back.

“Dude.”

“For what it’s worth, Dean, you look surprisingly well for the amount of hours we’ve been traveling. If you’d like, I can certainly assist your cleanup process if you’re hoping to explore the town and start working the case.”

Thoughts of joint showers flood Dean’s mind before Cas holds up two fingers towards Dean’s forehead. Oh, he’s going to mojo him clean. Right.

“Ah, no, no, that’s ok, buddy. Let’s just make a point to stop at a general store or something. This one horse town must have a Gas ’n Sip, at least.”

Shower thoughts aside, Dean is reminded of check-in and decides to ask Cas what the hell he was doing back there.

“Hey, if you understood what Johnny and Moira were getting at about us, why did you go along with it? I thought we’d agreed to go with the brother road trip cover?”

Cas had walked away from Dean and is now near the kitchenette. He turns and leans against the counter.

“I thought it would be easier to go along with their train of thought. No sense in drawing attention away from the flow of conversation. That might have brought up more questions than what we’d like. We are trying to blend in, right?”

Cas has a point.

“Right.” He stares at Cas. “So we’re fake-married then?”

“It appears so. Obviously, you can have the bed. I have no need for it.”

“Right.”

He didn’t feel disappointed with that thought, he reminds himself. He then has another thought about the bed.

“That mattress is going to have to be flipped before I sleep on it. A dude just died on it. Let me clean up and then I’ll help you.”

Dean heads to the bathroom and does the quickest water and motel soap clean up he can. He comes back out to the room and finds Cas talking to a dark haired woman holding towels. The bed has been stripped and the mattress is half off the bed frame. Clearly Cas started taking matters into his own capable hands before Dean could help.

“And you thought you saw a bug with ‘many legs’ crawl under the mattress?”

“Yes, my husband is deathly afraid of any multi-legged creature that scurries to dark corners.”

“Hmm, I know someone like that. How does he feel about moths?”

“Also very afraid.”

Dean realizes that Cas is talking about him. Why is he telling this woman that he’s afraid of bugs and moths? No doubt, they’re gross but nothing a little butane hasn’t handled in the past. Cas looks back at Dean as he leaves the bathroom.

“Dean, this is Stevie. She owns the motel and has brought us more towels. I was in the process of looking for a bug under the bed when she made her appearance.”

“A bug? Well, thanks for looking out for me, man, er, sweetheart?” Dean’s cheeks flush slightly at his own confused endearment. “Stevie, it’s nice to meet you. Let me take those towels from you. And as for that bug, Cas, I’m sure it’s long gone. Might as well get that mattress back on the bed.”

Dean takes the towels from Stevie and sets them on the table in the kitchenette.

“Thanks again, Stevie. Can I show you out?”

He walks her to the door. She’s looking back at the bed with a slightly wide-eyed horror.

“It’s just a bug. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, a bug. Enjoy your stay.” As Stevie leaves, Dean glances back at the bed and realizes that Stevie must have been the one that found the body. She seems to have a steely outer demeanor, but is clearly shaken by the sight of the bed.

Dean turns back to Cas and watches him easily flip the mattress and reposition it on the frame. Together they start making the bed.

“A bug?” Dean asks without preamble.

“She came in while I was flipping the bed. I thought it prudent to not let on that we know about the dead man.”

“Right. Hey can you, uh, do your thing on the mattress as well?” Dean motions his finger over the bed. “Never hurts to have it completely dead guy free.”

Cas ‘does his thing’ and they finish making the bed before heading out to explore the town.

***

It turns out that Schitt’s Creek is small enough to walk everywhere. The motel is about five blocks away from the downtown —well, if one could call it that. They find the Cafe Tropical that Johnny mentioned, Bob’s Garage, and Rose Apothecary at kind of a three-way crossroads.

“Dean, look, an apothecary. Aside from general medicinal needs, they might stock your bathroom necessities that you need to replace.”

“Rose Apothecary? Sounds kind of douchey to me.”

“Maybe Alexis Rose owns the store.”

Dean strains at the words. Alexis Rose. When agreeing to go on this case, he had no real concept on how many triggers this town (and the family that owns it) would set off for him. Meeting Alexis Rose would be kind of awesome, but he was more intrigued with the gossip surrounding her international travels and drama than anything. Sure, she’s hot, but well, he’s resented her ever since her release of “A Little Bit Alexis”. That little ‘song’ got stuck in his head for weeks. And anyway, air travel really isn’t his thing.

Dean looks sideways and stares at Cas. He feels like Cas is pushing him a little and whatever Cas is getting at, it gives Dean an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He's not ready to face this. He's not ready to be fake-married to his best friend, and he just wants to get this whole thing over with so he can go back to sleeping while binge watching Game of Thrones. He hears season eight is particularly important to sleep through.

Dean clears his throat and looks down. His hands fiddle with a loose thread on his flannel.

“Yeah, well, I think I've made a fool of myself enough for today. How about we stick to the case so we can get out of this one-horse town. C'mon, let's hit up the garage first and then we'll make a quick stop at the store for supplies. Sam should be checking in soon with what he's found in Elmdale.”

With that, Dean starts walking towards the garage. It’s a big blue building with paint peeling off the wood exterior. A common theme in this little town, he notes. There’s a tow truck and older model sedans parked out front. Dean can’t tell if they are for sale or rent, or just piss poor examples of the work done at this particular garage. Dean shudders at the thought of Baby in the hands of a stranger. He hardens himself as they cross the street. No one is touching Baby but him (and despite what Sam thinks, he’s not even going to do anything to her.) By the looks of this place, he’ll be able to talk circles around the joint, order some parts, and maybe pick up some intel via local gossip.

He’s not even sure where to begin asking about what’s been going on in the town. To the outside world, this was just a random death. Sam and his hair-brained ideas. Dean thinks this is another good reason to not let his brother stew in the bunker too long --it makes him start seeing things that maybe aren’t there.

“Okay, let me do the talking here, Cas. I know what I need and I think I have an idea about asking questions,” Dean says as they reach the door.

Cas remains silent, but nods. Dean opens the door and Cas follows close behind.

The inside of the shop is in as much disarray as the outside, with the general sense of a well-used but poorly-updated business. There are a couple people milling about. No one seems too busy. And no one seems to pay attention to the two new people entering the building. One man, older with cropped white hair and a craggy face is seated behind a desk. His arms are wide to his side and he is clearly finishing an elaborate story. The others’ laughter is strained. The man behind the desk laughs the hardest.

Dean and Cas stand just inside the door. Dean is assessing the place before moving further in to ask for help. The man behind the desk notices him and beckons him over.

“Hi there, I’m Bob. How can I help you two fellows?”

The couple of other people milling about the desk disperse and Dean approaches.

“Hi, Bob. I take it this is your place of business?” The question comes out a little gruff and Dean realizes that he isn’t coming off as his most charming self. He clears his throat.

“I am, and you look a bit lost.” His voice is still jovial, though guarded.

Dean smiles and introduces himself.

“I’m Dean, and this is my buddy Cas --.”

“Husband,” Cas interjects.

Right. Husband.

He looks at Cas, wanting to ask him why it’s important to point that out now, and not the opposite before. What happened to just flowing with the conversation? Not drawing attention to themselves? He glowers at Cas and turns back to a waiting Bob.

“My _husband_ and I are in town briefly and I’m in need of some parts for my ’67 Chevy Impala.”

A little sheepishly, Dean’s expecting a little more of an awed response when he mentions his car, but gets nothing but Bob looking through a drawer and pulling out a carbon sheet receipt booklet.

“We have to order most parts from Elm Grove. It’ll take a couple of days. What can I get for you?”

It is as simple as that. Dean lists off the various belts and parts he wants. Bob doesn’t even bat an eye and dutifully writes down what Dean requests. While Dean is doing that, Cas wanders off to another part of the garage. Dean is just finishing things with Bob when he overhears Cas say, “Spooky things in town?”

Dean thanks Bob and hustles over to the other conversation. Cas is, admittedly, becoming a much more convincing FBI agent with every passing case, but they’re just passing as regular people in this town. And Cas is _anything_ but regular.

He approaches Cas, placing his hand on his back, feeling the fabric of the trench coat on his fingertips, the solidness of his back underneath.

“Hey, buddy. I’ve got the parts ordered. Maybe it’s, uh, time to go?” Dean peeks at Cas sideways, expectantly. Whatever Cas is asking about can’t make any sense to the townsfolk.

“Dean, I was just asking Gwen and Andy here about anything interesting to do in town while we wait for the new car parts. Gwen is married to Bob and has lived in Schitt’s Creek for most of her life. She’s a wealth of information on what the town can offer in terms of entertainment.”

Cas glowers at Dean and he drops his hand. Clearly, Cas has this under control.

Cas continues.

“Gwen was just telling me about a haunted tour that the local Daughters of Elmdale host once a month. It happens to be tomorrow evening if we are interested.”

“A haunted tour? So Schitt’s Creek is haunted?”

That got a chuckle from Gwen.

“You’ll be hard-pressed to find a place that doesn’t boast some kind of haunting or another around these parts. I’ve been a part of these tours for years now.” She lowers her voice and practically whispers, “It’s more of a romantic walk through the woods than anything. You two won’t have to fight off too many ghosts if you book a tour.”

Dean blinks and looks at Cas.

“You two are the newlyweds passing through town? Johnny phoned over that you’d be stopping by. If you want to stick around a few minutes, you’ll be able to meet the tour guide, Ray.”

Dean continues to look at Cas. What the hell is happening right now? Is this town for real? He’s not surprised that everyone knows everyone —and Johnny did say he’d tell Bob they were heading over, but now they’re signed up for a haunted tour of the town. Are they going to be personally escorted to the cafe across the street for a complimentary meal next?

A smaller man who appears to be of Indian descent rushes in just as Cas responds, “That would be very nice.” He doesn’t seem to see Dean or Cas off to the side and runs right up to Bob’s desk.

“Oh, you would not believe what I overheard Roland talking about just a couple of minutes ago. A man has been found dead off of Route 13!” The man giggles then. Bob chuckles in return.

Dean’s hunter radar goes into overdrive. Another death? And these townspeople find it funny? Maybe Sam was right in sticking to sussing out the townspeople. Something doesn’t sit right in this town.

“Dean,” Cas growls.

“Yeah, I know.”

Without really thinking ahead, he jumps into hunter mode and approaches the new man. “I’m sorry, did you say there was a man found dead in town?”

“Oh, no, no, no, not in town, just outside of town. Apparently Roland was talking to Terry while I was dropping off paperwork to Ronnie, and Terry mentioned they had to respond to a call from Elmdale about an ‘incident’, which then Roland learns was a suspicious death. But don’t worry, it turns out the man wasn’t from Schitt’s Creek, and I’m sure it’ll all be a funny antidote at next week’s town board meeting. Roland had to head out for the ultrasound with Jocelyn, so he couldn’t chat long.”

The man stops then and realizes he doesn’t recognize Dean or Cas. His mouth falls slightly agape and it’s then that Bob interjects.

“Yeah, Ray, this is Dean —and Cas, was it? They’re just in town on a brief break from a road trip. They’re not from Schitt’s Creek.” Bob says that matter-of-factly and goes back to his papers, like hearing about a dead body doesn’t matter one bit to him.

His wife, though, comes over.

“Ray, Jocelyn is having an ultrasound today? Do you know if she’s going to learn the baby’s gender? They’re really tempting fate with that endeavor. And what did Roland say about what happened with the death?”

Recovering, but still eyeing Dean a little sideways, he answers. “Oh, I don’t know. Isn’t the Schitt family curse a little silly at this point? Although, Mutt did turn out the way he did, but that’s not my concern. And before he left, Roland said that it sounds like the Elmdale PD is handling it all, but wanted Terry to head over with his coroner’s van.”

“Hmm, interesting. Bob, dear, I’m off to the library. Don’t wait up. Dinner is in the freezer.” And with that, Gwen is gone.

Dean needs to check in with Sam. Schitt family curse? Another death? He wonders how well the research in Elmdale is going and whether Sam has visited the library in Schitt’s Creek as well. They’ve got another death on their hands. It seems it’s another person passing through town as well. It fits the pattern, if they can call it that.

With Gwen now gone and Bob oblivious to the two customers in his shop, Dean, Cas, and Ray continue to awkwardly stare at each other over the recent conversation that was not meant for the tourists’ ears.

“I’m Dean.” He holds out his hand.

“Ray.”

“You’re the haunted woods tour guide?” Cas asks.

“Why yes! I’ve been involved with the tours for a number of years. I plan on taking a group out tomorrow if you’re interested. We’ll be meeting at 8 on Route 6 just past the Schitt Farm, two lefts past the old oak but before old Henderson’s well. You can’t miss the spot!”

Dean smiles blandly at the directions.

“Great, we’ll be there.” He turns back to Bob and inquires about getting a call when the parts arrive. Bob gets Dean’s number and Dean then asks about the possibility of a loaner car. As much as it hurts to leave Baby in the parking lot of the motel, it wouldn’t look good for their cover if he kept driving it around. Bob lets them know they can borrow a car from the shop if necessary. Dean holds off for now but tells Bob they’ll be back if walking around town becomes too much during their stay. They thank Bob and head out.

***

Once outside, they walk a ways away before Dean pulls out his phone.

“I’ve got to call Sam. If there’s been another death, he needs to know about it. Maybe he can get to the morgue and take a look. So far, we’ve got jack, so let’s hope he’s had a more successful afternoon.”

His phone must have been on silent because there are a series of texts from Sam giving him updates on what he’s found so far. As it turns out, Sam already explored Elmdale’s library and had made his way to Schitt’s Creek, and its little library. He’s made himself at home there. He had missing newspapers help fill in the gaps of the pattern of deaths, and they all seem to have happened on the outskirts of Schitt’s Creek.

Dean calls Sam and he picks up on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Sam, how’s research? Got your texts. Cas and I are just getting done with the garage. It looks like you can add another body to your list.”

“What do you mean? There’s been another death?”

“Yup. Apparently, just like you noticed, this one happened just out of town on Route 6. I think Elmdale PD is involved, but the Schitt’s Creek coroner was called to help. I’m guessing the body’ll be in town for us to go take a look.”

“Huh, Well, I don’t think you or Cas will be making any trips in public to the morgue. I’ve overheard lots of chatter about the cute newlywed couple passing through town. What happened to the bro trip cover? Alexis is going to be so disappointed you’re taken.”

Dean couldn’t see Sam’s face, but if he could, he'd reach through the phone and wipe the very obvious grin off of it. His cheeks burn a bit and he quickly looks over at Cas. He is standing behind him, looking at the buildings around them, oblivious to the conversation on the phone. Good.

“Shut up, we didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t my idea!”

“I know, it was mine. Glad you’re finally taking my advice.”

“Listen! We really need to figure out what’s happening in this town. Two deaths in a week and both of them not from around here is a little weird. We should meet.”

“Sure, if you’re not busy spending quality time with your new husband.”

“Sam.”

“Okay, okay, listen. Taking into account other things I’ve read and talking with people at the library in Elmdale, I’m starting to wonder about the woods in the area. Is there something malevolent out there? Something old that feeds on or kills humans without evidence? I’ve heard of wood sprites or, remember the Bisaan in Colorado? I’m going to have to keep digging, and then it’s a matter of finding the thing.”

That is an interesting thought, but then Dean remembers the dead guy in Room 4.

“Hey, check into something for me. Where in town does the motel sit? If these deaths are all happening outside of the town, what happened in the motel?”

“I already got that covered. It seems that the motel straddles the two townships. Half of the motel is literally feet outside of town, and Room 4 falls there.”

“Okay, well let’s rendezvous in an hour back at the motel. Cas and me are stopping to pick up some supplies, and then tomorrow we’ve, uh, we’ve got a haunted woods tour to go on.”

“A what?”

“A tour of haunted places around Schitt’s Creek. Cas’s idea, really, but it might prove worthwhile if people are dying outside of town and we’ve got malevolent spirits doing their yearly weeding out of road trippers, or whatever’s going on.” Dean has an idea just then. “Sam, have we ruled out that it isn't just the townspeople that are evil? I mean, people are nice here, like too nice.”

“How do you mean ‘nice’?”

“You know, like nice. They aren’t throwing evil looks at Cas and me and they’re offering discounts for things and telling us about things to do in the town. Cas is a pretty weird dude, you’d think we’d be stared at a bit more. What if this is some kind of Hot Fuzz situation. We’re going to be sacrificed for the Greater Good if we don’t toe the party line?”

From his side Dean hears Cas mutter to himself. “I’m not weird.”

On the phone, Sam continues. “First, Cas isn’t that weird anymore. And second, not all small towns are out to shun new people —or what I think you’re really implying —gay couples, Dean. And honestly, I’d love for this to be a Hot Fuzz development deal gone bust and see you shoot your gun in the air à la Keanu Reeves, but out of town people are the ones dying, not locals. You think the Rose family is taking out the town one lonely person at a time?”

“I mean, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that we’ve ever dealt with, but we seem to be coming up with a whole lot of nada here.”

“Well, I’m heading out to grab a bite to eat and then maybe sneak into the morgue. I’ll see you guys in an hour.”

“Got it. See you later.”

Dean hangs up and looks back at Cas. He has a sour look on his face and Dean feels guilty for saying he was weird in front of him, but he is, even if he doesn’t mean to be.

“Cas, listen, I’m sor—,”

“Dean, let’s get your stuff and get back to the motel. We have a case to work and I know how much of a burden it is to spend it exclusively with ‘a weird guy’.”

“Cas, listen…”

“No, you listen, Dean,” and suddenly Cas is in Dean’s face. All the fury of one fiery angel is focused on Dean. His nostrils are flared and his one eyebrow is raised, like it often is when he’s about to smite something. _Or some_one, Dean thinks. His cheeks are flushed, and if Dean wasn’t so mesmerized with the sight in front of him, all his senses would tell him to run, _fast_.

But this _is_ Cas, though, and he is a dorky little guy and he’s Dean’s best friend and god, his eyes are almost sparking blue right now. Dean wonders if it’s because his mojo is firing up, or if it’s just how the last of the afternoon sun hits his face.

It must be the sun, his face is golden and the little flecks of lighter stubble sparkle when his jaw clenches. Dean blinks to clear his mind. Where the hell did his mind just go? Why is he thinking about how Cas looks? He doesn’t get to continue this thought though.

“Dean, I know I’m a burden to you and Sam. But you —you and Sam —are all I’ve got.” He huffs a little, looking away, deflating. “I think I prove myself useful at times. You just seem to increasingly think I’m more and more useless the less I’m attached to heaven. In Reno- the wraith, that was -just- just a hunt, and an easy one, at that. You’ve been acting like I did something horribly wrong ever since then.” He looks back at Dean, and swallows. “You’ve been acting this way for a long time. I’m trying my best, Dean. This hunt, I thought, I was doing my best to be ‘normal’.” Dean can’t help but grin a little on the inside when Cas put air quotes around that word.

On the outside, he’s reeling from everything Cas just said. Yeah, so he’s mad about Reno. Or, he thought he was, but what he was, was worried. He’s always worried. Cas isn’t done, though.

“And now I seem to do everything wrong in this town, but the people here are nice and they accepted our story without question and I found us an excuse to explore the woods outside of town.” Cas’s anger is completely gone, and all that was left is confusion and hurt.

Which is why Dean’s response is probably one of the dumbest things he’s ever done, outside of eating kale that one time. “Yeah, with a gaggle of tourists and a murderous creature on the hunt for fresh blood.”

Cas gets back in his face.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ll be there. Clearly, I won’t be of any help.” With that, he turns to walk away.

Dean reaches for him, meaning to grab the cuff of his trench coat, but grabs his hand by mistake instead. It’s awkward. In that moment, Dean realizes how this must look to a passersby. The newlyweds are fighting, and as much as it is none of their business, he knows how these things work. Cas is right. They need to blend in if they’re going to solve this thing. Fighting in the equivalent of the town square is s boneheaded move.

“You’re right.” They’re still holding hands. Cas is still staring at their hands. Dean’s still staring at their hands. He can’t let go for some reason.

“Right? About what?”

“This. This town. This case. So can we call a truce for a tiny moment, and then we’ll hash all this extra crap out?”

“You finding me useless is ‘extra crap’?”

Cas is shutting down, and Dean cannot not let that happen. They have a cover and while it _is_ a stupid cover, it gives them advantages that they wouldn’t otherwise have, like working together in the open. Dean is messing up every part of their time together.

He squeezes Cas’s hand, deciding in that moment that maybe he needs to embrace the cover. It’s just an act, right? The town just watched them have a lover’s spat and now they’re going to see them make up.

Dean pulls Cas around so they’re facing each other again. He gets close, closer than normal. Well, their personal space is _always_ closer than normal, if Dean is honest with himself. He calms himself and repositions his hand, and looks at Cas.

“You’re not ‘extra crap’ to me. You never have been. I worry.” Dean looks down his nose at Cas before continuing. “And before you tell me you can take care of yourself, I’m going to tell you that I’m still always going to worry. So truce?”

“We do have a case to solve and I appreciate your honesty. Truce.”

He squeezes Dean’s hand and they stare at each other a bit. They aren’t done figuring things out, not by a long shot, but Dean is willing to set aside his worry for a bit, and Cas, hopefully, feels more like he’s part of the team. Dean releases his hand from Cas and brings it up to briefly cup Cas’s jaw, slightly grazing the perpetual peach fuzz. It’s good for the show they’re putting on, after all. A smaller feeling pulsing just under his ribcage thinks there’s more to it than just show, but he tamps down that thought.

“C’mon, let’s check out this Rose Apothecary and head back to the motel. Sam’s meeting us there in a bit.”

“Of course.”

***

Dean and Cas walk the short path to Rose Apothecary. It’s just this side of pretentious, Dean thinks. Its black and white aesthetic is considerably fancier than the Gas ’n Sip where he tends to pick up all his necessary travel gear. They walk inside the large wood-framed glass doors to a high-ceilinged and spacious well organized room. There are large tables filled with bath lotions, oils, and “body milks”. There are shelves off to the left and to the right is the counter. The place is empty, aside from a lone guy standing behind the counter. He’s got short brown hair, a blue button down shirt, and a bland face. He greets them as they come in. Dean nods in return and starts scanning the place for a toothbrush and deodorant.

“Let me know if I can help you find anything,” the man says.

“Thank you. That is most kind.” Cas responds.

Dean starts picking up jars of things, wonders what “body milk” is —do you drink it? He’s kind of in awe of the joint. The few hours they’ve spent in this town haven’t really given him the vibe that there is anything special about the place where the Rose family migrated. This place though, Dean will only admit to himself, this place has David Rose’s signature all over it. He’s secretly read enough magazines to know David Rose’s style. His mind races a bit to think that David Rose is around. The guy seems a bit weird but he’s got style. And maybe his dark hair that magically stands five feet in the air is kinda cool. Dean sneaks a quick look at Cas, his own dark hair effortlessly spiked five feet in the air, and swallows.

Dean wants to ask the man behind the counter about who owns the shop —they are supposed to be finding out more about the town and the people in it, and he’s not fully ready to give up his Hot Fuzz theory yet.

He starts walking back around the table, Cas having wandered off a bit to handle some wool sweaters in the back corner. The door opens before he gets too far, and in walks David Rose. He’s carrying two coffee cups and makes a bee-line for the man behind the counter. Before even setting the coffees down, he leans across the counter and kisses him. And then they kiss again. And they keep kissing. Deans wants to clear his throat or run to the back room or —he just keeps staring though.

“They do seem to find kissing enjoyable.”

Cas is suddenly right beside Dean, and Dean jumps a bit. The couple pulls apart at Cas’s voice and David looks over.

“Patrick, we have customers. Wow, how great.”

“Yes, David, they just came in.” Patrick clears his throat, a little red in the face, and reaches for his coffee. He silently mouths “Thank you” to David before taking a sip.

David’s attention is back on Dean and Cas. “Is there anything in particular I can help you find?”

“Uh, just a toothbrush and deodorant.”

David’s face scrunches up a bit —-or well, Dean doesn’t know what it’s doing really.

“Those are in the back.”

Patrick comes out from behind the counter then and pats David on the shoulder. “Let me get them for you.” As he walks by Dean and Cas, he stops and holds out his hand. “I’m Patrick, and that’s David. Are you new in town, or just passing through?”

“Dean. And this is Cas.” Dean thumbs towards Cas, and Cas gives a cursory nod. “Staying a couple nights at the motel on the edge of town while I wait for parts for my -our car.”

“The Schitt’s Creek motel?” David wanders their way and is making that face again. His teeth are bared and his ears back, like he is physically repulsed by the very idea. “Oh, that’s, like, a very bad—.”

“David, they’re staying at Stevie’s motel! They’re staying where you live. What a wonderful surprise.” Patrick utters the last bit a little strained, clearly trying to remain civil at David’s lack of tact.

David is quick to ask, “What room did you get?”

“Room Four. It has a comfortable bed and complementary coasters.” Cas is equally quick to answer.

“Wonderful…congrat—congr, uh, enjoy your stay.” With that he walks over to the far wall to move more items back in order.

Patrick sighs a bit and looks at Dean and Cas. “I’ll be right back with your items. Please look around while you wait.”

Patrick takes off for the back of the store, while Dean tracks his eyes back to David. Cas had wandered off again, opening random jars and sniffing them. David keeps flitting glances back at them, and Dean’s spidey senses start going into hyperdrive.

_He knows_. David knows about the dead guy in Room Four.

That is guarded knowledge, according to Sam. It was in the police report, but not in the paper. On the one hand, David does live in the motel and maybe he saw something. On the other hand, how does a broke former celebrity land enough money to start a business as nice as this one? And what was with Patrick wanting to know if they were passing through town or not? Something seems hinky, and Dean wants answers. He can’t just ask though. Their cover would be blown. Does that matter at this point? The case is going nowhere fast. The only thing they’ve accomplished is convincing some townsfolk that their car doesn’t work and that they are married -both of which are false and don’t help with the case one bit.

“Wait, I know you. You’re David Rose —_The_ David Rose.” Dean walks over to David. Flattery goes a long way with narcissists.

David, who is busy moving around what appears to be lip balms and breath mints, looks around like Dean isn’t talking to him. His face squirrels into an embarrassed but pleased smile.

“Oh, um, yes. Yes, I’m David Rose. It’s not often we have people stop here that know me —or art? No offense, but judging from your clothes you don’t strike me as a connoisseur of fine art.”

Since Dean is technically on a mission and David is technically right about not caring about the fine art world, he’ll let this dig about his clothes go. The dude wears leather sweaters in summer —and he doesn’t ride a motorcycle as far as Dean remembers. What does he know?

“You’re not wrong there, but one can barely pick up a paper or tune in to the TV without knowing about the Rose family. You ended up in this little town? How’d that happen?”

Dean knows exactly how that happened. But what insidious things has this family been up to since moving here? Didn’t Sam say something about the pattern of death changing when the family moved to town? Or was it when they bought the town? 

“This was the only thing the government left us when we lost everything.”

“Hmm, and you’ve made yourself quite at home —really settling in.” Dean glances all around the store and at the back of the store where Patrick has disappeared.

“Hmmm, very much.” David looks wistfully at the back of the store. It takes Dean aback a bit. The blind look of love that David has plastered across his face is like a punch to Dean’s solar plexus. He’s seen versions of that look many times —on Cas when he’s looking at Dean —and that one time looking at a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Dean buries that thought and continues the interrogation.

“Do you get a lot of tourists through the area? This seems like such a sleeper town to sustain a classy joint like this.”

“I’ll take your comment of ‘classy …joint’ as a compliment, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Dean realizes that he may be pushing too hard as a tourist. The FBI gig affords them far more access so he lets it go. “Uh, nothing. You’ve got a nice store here.” 

While he is engaging in this bristling conversation with David, Patrick had come back with the supplies and it looks like Cas is taking care of paying for the items.

He wanders back to Cas as Patrick hands him his purchases. He can’t hear their entire conversation but hears Cas say, “Thank you, Patrick. We will certainly make every effort to come tonight.”

Once outside, and on their way back to the motel, Dean asks Cas about what he overheard.

“Patrick invited us to an open mic night at the apothecary. I said we would come. I think it’ll give us a good chance to see the town people in action. We can at least run out your notion of a secret town council murdering unsightly visitors just to maintain an air of small-town charm.”

_So Cas does pay attention during movie nights_, Dean thinks to himself. A small part of him wells with pride.

“Listen, all I’m saying is this town is a little _too_ quaint and a little _too_ perfect for all its weirdness. We’re surrounded by woods. My second bet is woodland creature that kills to maintain its power. The town is its feeding ground. It’s not very prosperous compared to Elmdale or other nearby towns. The Roses move to town a couple years ago and things start to change? The murders start up again. Why? They own the town, they live at the motel where one of the vics died.”

“I sense no magic in this town, Dean. It’s quite perplexing.”

“The Greater Good,” Dean says, mockingly. “And is an open mic night what I think it is? Improv and all that crap?”

“Yes, Dean. I was thinking of trying out a comedy routine that I’ve been working on.” Cas says the last bit so deadpan, that if Dean didn’t know him better, he’d think Cas is serious.

He grabs Cas’s shoulder as they walk and says, “Buddy, your sense of humor is only good for a very select audience.”

Cas’s scowl slowly turns into a grim as they walk back to the motel.

Sam is waiting for them, somehow breaking into their room —_hopefully with no one noticing_, Dean thinks. And he has news.

“It’s a witch.”

Dean and Cas are barely in the room before Sam breaks the news.

“How do you know?”

Sam throws a small brown hex bag on the dinette table.

“This was on the vic. I think we’re dealing with not just a single witch, but a coven. I stopped by the cafe before heading here and the waitress had a lot to say about the town and its history. A lot of it was-” Sam scoffs, pushes his hair back, and continues, “it was crazy family stories, but she started talking about a second cousin who ran an Army surplus store and they were briefly married to a distant cousin of the current mayor —Roland Schitt. Then —then another woman came up to the counter and started going on and on about ‘Rollie’ and his family history, dating back to Salem.”

“Wait, these people were just talking about witchcraft like it was no big deal?! Have you tried talking to Rowena about this? Does she have any background for us?”

Sam looks down and clears his throat.

“Sam?” Cas asks.

“Uh, no. No, I haven’t. Wasn’t sure if we should involve her in the case.”

“Sam, it’s a case with witches. Yeah, let’s maybe call the witch on our speed dial for some help,” Dean sputters.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe you guys can. I really want to check out the Schitt family farm, it’s outside of the town —oddly enough, and that seems to be a deciding factor on who dies or doesn’t.”

“Uh, ok.” Dean gives a quick look to Cas and raises his eyebrows. What’s Sam doing? He is always quick to contact Rowena. She was at the bunker before they get back from Reno. Dean has a thought.

“Sam, what happened with you and Rowena while we were gone last week? You didn’t want to talk about it earlier and now you’re not calling her?”

“Nothing. How’s married life?”

Dean rolls his eyes at the obvious subject change.

“Good, Sammy. You should try it sometime.” He pulls Cas in for a sideways hug, initially as a joke for Sam’s sake, but regrets it immediately when he looks over to see Cas, a look of fondness and confusion on his face.

Dean rubs his shoulder for some reason and can feel the solidness beneath all the layers of trench coat and suit. _Stop rubbing his shoulder, Jesus_, Dean thinks. His mind kind of short circuits and he drops his arm. His fake smile falters a bit.

“And, uh, it’s a completely ridiculous cover. No one cares who were are to each other. Everyone in this town just seems to go with the flow. It’s stupid.”

Sam smirks a bit.

“Well, it's a better option than a lone weirdo hunter of monsters and a fallen angel cover, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. I think the witch would show themselves a lot sooner if they knew hunters were on their ass.”

“And that’s the beauty of the cover —they don’t know and we have the upper hand for now. Listen, whatever we’re dealing with goes way back —back to Salem or further and it’s been working its power here for a very long time --probably since the town was founded-- if the papers have any say in the matter. I see why the Men of Letters had the papers now. I’m heading out. So, uh, contact Rowena and grab a bite to eat, and I guess, uh, will keep checking out the town?”

“We’re going to an open mic night tonight. Dean is going to serenade me.”

Dean feels Sam’s surprised eyes boring into him and his face heats a degree or two.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough Mr. Funnypants.” He starts walking over to the bed to rifle through his duffel. “We’re here on business. It’ll be a great opportunity to get a good shot at finding the witch.”

“Yeah, ‘business’,” Sam snickers. “Listen, let’s touch base in a bit. I got a place in Elmdale tonight just so I’m laying low away from Schitt’s Creek. Stay safe you two —and uh, Dean, might I suggest “Earth Angel” as a song?”

Dean throws a dirty t-shirt at the door as Sam quickly shuts it behind him.

****

Once Sam leaves, Dean just looks around the room, his eyes eventually settling on Cas. He’s still standing by the table, fiddling with the little hex bag.

“Dean, there’s very little magic emanating from this hex bag.”

“That’s a good thing, right? I mean, we should still burn it, but less power the better I say.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Cas continues to ponder the bag, like there’s more he’s thinking about, but he says nothing.

Dean takes a beat to continue looking at Cas. He was such an idiot getting mad at him before. It’s always fun working a case with Cas—spending quality time with him alone.

“Okay, I’m gonna change real fast and then I say we hit up that cafe for a bit of grub.”

Dean heads to the bathroom, new toiletries in hand, and makes quick work of a real shower this time. He dresses and spikes his hair just right —no sense in looking messy for their date —wait, do married people date? —why did he think this was a date? He shakes his head and looks at himself in the motel mirror, dismissing his train of thought. Cas is his best friend and they’re working a case. This whole fake-marriage thing is just messing with his brain. He can’t help but admire how honest and open David and Patrick were in their store though. What a world they live in —certainly not a world Dean knows.

Dean comes out of the bathroom, expecting Cas to have made himself at home watching TV —as he tends to do in motels they stay in, but instead he is neatly folding his trench coat and laying it on the bed. His back is to Dean, and it’s a good thing, because Dean’s mouth falls wide open.

Cas is standing, his hair mussed in its usual manner, wearing his regular dress pants and shoes. Instead of his usual suit coat, button down shirt, and trench coat, he’s sporting a baby blue cashmere crew neck sweater. It fits him just right —and shows off everything the trench coat loves to hide.

“Cas…”

Dean clears his throat and starts to fiddle with his bathroom bag. Shit, why did he just breathe out Cas’s name like that?

Cas turns around at his name, adjusting his sleeves slightly.

“Cas, buddy, what are you wearing?”

“It’s a sweater, Dean. I bought it at the apothecary. Patrick said it was a great purchase —made locally in the area.”

“Yeah, but yo—you never don’t wear your suit,” Dean sputters a bit.

Cas looks down, indignant, and runs his open palms down the length of his torso, making Dean inexplicably sputter even more.

“I thought I would blend in better with different clothes. We’re not FBI, after all. Normal people wear sweaters, Dean.”

“Not in my world, but, uh, yeah, you look…nice, Cas. The color really brings out the blue in your eyes.” _Shut. It. Down. Winchester._ Dean swallows, wishing he could start the last five minutes of his life over again. Maybe the witch cursed this room, he thinks. He’s not feeling alright in the least.

“Dean, are you feeling okay? You look unwell.”

“I’m…I’m fine, Cas. I’m maybe a little hungry. Beef jerky for breakfast doesn’t fill you up like it should,” he says, brushing off his hungry thoughts that aren’t food related. “Let’s go.”

***

Together, they head to Cafe Tropical. Once there they find a booth and slide in on opposite sides of the table and start looking over the ridiculously large menus. Dean is still weirded out by Cas’s new attire —maybe because it reminds him of when Cas was human. Not a good time for them —for Cas, really, and it was Dean’s fault.

The waitress comes and takes their order—well, Dean’s order times two, but she doesn’t need to know that. They sit in silence, Dean sipping on his water while they wait for their food.

“Cas remember that case in Rexford, Idaho— the Rit Zien?”

Cas looks at Dean, puzzled but nods his assent. Dean figures he remembers —the angel wanted to kill Cas. How much pain was he in that the Rit Zien went after him to stop the pain? Dean thumbs at the water droplets on his glass. “This is long overdue, but I’m sorry about that time. I’m glad you’re home in the bunker with us now.”

“Dean, what brings this up?”

“I don’t know. Working a case together, maybe.”

“We work cases together all the time. Just three short days ago, you were ready to leave me behind in Reno because I was helping you with a case a little too much.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you in Reno.”

Dean looks up and looks at Cas’s new blue sweater, and his sad blue eyes. Dean’s throat catches.

“I like spending time with you, Cas. And I can’t spend time with you if you’re dead.”

Cas slowly blinks at Dean and stares softly at him, reminding Dean of the look David gave Patrick earlier that day. The waitress arrives with the food, which thankfully prevents Dean from squirming too much over Cas’s look.

Dean digs into his double bacon burger and, surprisingly, is not disappointed. They sit in companionable silence while Dean eats. They’re in no hurry since the apothecary is only across the street and there’s no sense in arriving early. Dean mentally insists to himself that neither of them will be performing a comedy routine _or_ a love ballad. They will be getting to know the townsfolk. His next thought is that they should act more like a couple.

What does that even mean —a couple? Dean’s never never been part of a couple and can’t imagine openly showing affection or any of that crap —shoulder pats and soft gazes aren’t romantic, they’re just …just what happens in the course of the day next to Cas. If they’re married —do married people kiss? Dean chides himself —_do married people kiss_? God. Patrick and David didn’t think open affection was that big of a deal. Dean gulps thinking about stepping up their cover.

Dean’s mind races from point to point but he stops himself to wonder why he’s actively trying to think of ways to convince a town that he’s married to Cas —a town that just seems to accept that they are — a town that could care less if they are or aren’t. It’s not part of the case, and yet Dean keeps thinking about their cover, and not how they’re going to track down the witch.

“Dean, I think we should mingle with the townspeople as a couple to draw them into conversation,” Cas says, practically reading Dean’s mind.

“Yeah, right. Use your angel mojo and we’ll crack this in no time.”

“Right. I texted Rowena earlier at the motel. She’s looking into witches in this part of the country and will report back. No doubt, she’ll have an answer for us soon. In the meantime, we should head over to the shop. If we’re lucky, we can learn more about the history of witchcraft in this town and whether the Schitt family or the Rose family is behind it all.”

“Let’s do it.” Dean wipes his mouth with a napkin and places it on the table. He throws a couple twenties down and they head out the door.

***

They enter the apothecary to find the event in full swing. People are milling about, enjoying the atmosphere and drinks in wine flutes. Some are quietly conversing in the front of the shop, while the majority of the people are focused on the back of the shop, where the performances are being held. 

Dean recognizes Bob from the garage, currently on the stage. His rendition of Howl is like nails on a chalkboard, but people seem to still be enjoying themselves. Must be the booze, Dean thinks. He also sees quite a few other people from town that he knows.

Cas is on his right and turns to talk to Dean.

“Dean, would you like me to get you a drink? It might make this experience more bearable for you,” Cas whispers in his ear.

Dean chuckles and turns to answer Cas. He looks down to look at the sweater —that damn sweater. Dean didn’t know Cas had it in him to dress with any sense of fashion. He feels slightly odd wearing just an olive green henley to the event. He also feels odd admiring Cas’s clothes so much. It’s just different to see Cas in something other than the trench coat. He’s admiring the clothes —not Cas —that’s all it is.

“Wine’ll do in a pinch but see if they have something better,” he answers, refocusing on the crowd.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Whiskey,” he whispers, pointedly as Cas steps away from him.

Cas heads for the refreshment table and Dean notes that Bob’s wife, Gwen, is chatting with a few people he doesn’t recognize and is pouring sparkling wine for them.

Bob’s set mercifully ends and the crowd starts murmuring more with each other. _Time to mingle_, Dean thinks, and starts walking closer to the stage. He sees David and Patrick talking quietly with each other. Patrick sees him from the corner of his eye and waves. He also sees Johnny and Moira Rose and his palms start to sweat. He was hoping to not see Moira Rose again after this afternoon’s embarrassment. He’ll never get her autograph now.

He hardens his thoughts and looks around for someone new to talk with. From the corner of his eye he sees Cas and Gwen talking. Cas is holding two glasses of wine. Darn, no liquor then.

“Oh, hello, you’re Dean, right?”

Dean turns slightly to see Ray, the chatty man he met earlier at the garage. Ray smiles and waves awkwardly. He then jumps into a long winded and --hilarious only to himself — story about a recent haunted tour where a couple got stuck in a pantry in one abandoned house they were touring. Ray seems to indicate that he just left them to keep the tour going. Dean wants to be anywhere but chatting with this man, mentally noting that there might be more than just witches in this town. Death trumps ghost hunting for now though.

While Ray gabs on and on, Dean wonders how he can extract himself from the situation. The next person is setting up to perform. The time to converse is getting smaller. He looks for Cas —and his drink —again, and finds Cas talking with a blond couple. The man has the most horrific mullet Dean has ever witnessed — and that’s saying a lot for someone who’s main interactions are with other hunters.

Dean watches as Johnny and Moira Rose approach them and greet Cas. Johnny raises a glass in a toast and Cas hesitantly mimics him with his glass and downs the liquid. Dean wonders where the other glass went and why he doesn’t have one in his own hand yet. He also wonders why Ray is still talking.

He groans internally and rubs his forehead.

“Hey, Ray, this is all very fascinating and I can’t, uh, wait to hear more on the haunted tour tomorrow night. I think I see my, uh, husband calling me over. Excuse me.”

“Okay, wonderful to chat, Dean. See you tomorrow night!”

Dean ducks away from Ray before he can say more. 

The couple that was just talking with Cas walk up to Dean then and smile. He wants to walk past them but realizes they’re making a pointed effort to interact with him so he pauses to recognize them. 

“You must be Dean. Your lovely husband pointed you out just now and we wanted to come over and welcome you to the town --however short a stay it is,” the woman said in greeting.

“This is my wife Jocelyn, and I’m Roland Schitt, mayor of this fine town.”

“Uh, nice to meet you.” Dean holds his hand out to shake each of theirs. _So this is Roland Schitt_, Dean thinks. _Seems about right._

“I hear you’re staying at the old Schitt’s Creek Motel. It’s got A+ maintenance and concierge over there, if you know what I mean.” The guy smiles at Dean and winks. 

“I, uh.” Dean blinks. _What?_

“And I’m guessing Johnny didn’t tell you about the extra special turn-down service, but I’m here to tell you it’s worth the $50.” 

“Roland, he doesn’t know you’re joking.” Jocelyn interjects. Turning to Dean, she adds, “Ignore my husband, he’s just darn proud of the work he does at the motel --all the lawn mowing and gutter cleaning. He really likes to roll out the red carpet for all guests.” She rubs his arm and looks affectionately at the man. 

Dean still isn’t sure where to go with this conversation. What the hell is he implying about the turndown service? Dean shudders internally. 

“Uh, well, I think my husband might be looking for me. It’s nice meeting you and keep up the great work!”

He nods his head at both of them before dodging behind them in search of Cas, realizing too late that it would have been a good time to steer the conversation over to the Schitt family curse and to learn a bit more about the family and the witch that’s terrorizing the town. 

He gets through the crowd and to Cas just as the next person starts their set on stage. Cas isn’t holding either drink anymore and is standing, slightly swaying, head relaxed and looking down. He notices that Johnny and Moira Rose are mingling elsewhere by now and sighs in relief. He takes a look at them from afar. From this angle and distance he can’t help but laugh a bit that Moira’s wig looks eerily familiar. Dean crowds up closer to him to whisper under the performance.

“Dude, look over at Moira Rose. Sam could take some styling lessons, don’t you think? Her wig looks just like Sammy’s hair.” Dean chuckles at himself but gets no real response from Cas. 

“Hey, you ok? You learn anything? I got stuck talking with Ray —needless to say, there’s a good chance witches aren’t the only thing that’s worrisome about this town. Not sure carrying a shotgun on the haunted tour is going to go over well , but I’d feel safer,” Dean jokes.

Cas gets even closer to Dean, wrapping one of his arms around Dean’s back and stands taller to whisper in Dean’s ear, his breath tickling the hairs on Dean’s face.

“Dean.” Cas is whispering but he is very close to Dean and Dean can hear a slight slur to his speech. “I’m so glad you’re back. This is such a nice idea for a date."

Cas is leaning on him a bit now and Dean feels Cas start to ruck up the back of his shirt to place his palm directly on Dean’s back. Dean blinks, mouth going a little dry —_where is that drink?_ Alarm bells are going off in Dean’s mind and he maybe lets Cas stand like that a beat or two longer before turning and looking back at him.

Cas is drunk —or drugged —or something. The last time he saw Cas drunk was after he had consumed an entire liquor store. No way two moderate glasses of bubbly caused this level of drunkenness in Cas.

“Hey, man, are you ok?”

Cas comes close again, this time bringing his face to Dean’s to whisper, the rough bristles of his stubble rubbing against Dean’s cheek.

“I’m fine, Dean. I’m happy you’re not mad at me anymore. I’m happy we’re spending this time together.”

Cas is so close that Dean can feel his lips softly brush across his skin. His breath hitches thinking about how they’re standing, chest to chest. Jesus, he can only imagine the sight they make. Personal space is so far out of the window it’s in another galaxy. Cas starts to lean heavier on Dean and Dean pulls his face back to cup Cas’s face with his left hand, his right gripping Cas’s side.

“Hey, hey, you’re not alright. We need to get you out of here. What’s happening to you?”

“Dean, stay still. I want —want to look at you. I always like looking at you.”

“Maybe later. Right now I think it might be time we make our exit.”

Dean scans the room again. Everyone else seems happy and enjoying an evening out. Some are chatting softly while the performance takes place in the background. Others watch, rapt and encouraging. Many are drinking the same wine that Cas had but no one is showing any signs of drunkenness like Cas is. Cas is weighing heavier in his arms and Dean starts to panic a bit.

He’s got to figure out what’s happening to him. The last time Cas was hit with a spell —if that is what this is —was Rowena’s Attack Dog spell. That wasn’t good for anyone.

Dean looks back at Cas and his panic ratchets up a notch. His mind flies in five different directions as to what could be happening.

“Cas, I need you to focus. I’ve got to get you out of here. Can you wrap your arm around my shoulder?”

“Hnnmmmhhm.” Cas proceeds to drape his arm around Dean —still facing him. Dean has to manipulate him sideways and starts to slowly head for the door. He looks around one final time but the people in the room seem blissfully unaware of what’s happening.

He gets Cas out the door and starts to navigate him back to their room. Cas is a heavy weight on his side but he’s still conscious and mostly able to walk himself. He’s getting worse though —and with that Dean’s panic level increases.

“Cas, talk to me. What happened tonight?”

Cas stumbles a bit and Dean pulls him closer, using all his strength to propel them forward. Who knew a dude with wings could be so heavy? The streets are empty and dark, with only the occasional street light to guide their way. They were just a couple blocks from the motel now.

“Dean…are yo-you annrrgy again?” Cas asks, voice just a whisper and very slurred.

Dean is past the anger state of panic and he doesn’t answer Cas, focusing on getting them both back to the motel room.

“Cas, buddy, listen to me. We’ve got to figure out what happened tonight. Did you eat anything? Did you take anything from someone? Who all did you talk to? How much wine did you drink?”

Dean gets them both in the room and positions Cas so he’s sitting on the bed. Quickly running back to turn on the light, he looks over at Cas.

He is quite the sight —hair standing in all directions, and his new blue sweater sitting askew and wrinkled from Dean grabbing on to him during their walk. He’s still swaying, even as he sits.

Dean runs over to the kitchen sink and pours a glass of water. Taking it back to Cas, he hands him the liquid.

“Here, drink this.” It’s a stupid thing. Water isn’t going to help. Cas holds the water but just looks down at it.

“Dean, I want you t-,” he pauses, shifting his thoughts mid-sentence. “I messed up again. No wonder you find me a burden in your life.” The last bit was almost said to himself.

Dean takes the water back from Cas and swallows thickly —his eyes sting slightly. Why would Cas think he’s a burden? Dean needs Cas. If anyone’s the burden, it’s Dean.

“Cas, I need you to listen to me. You are not a burden. Whatever is happening tonight is not your fault.” He sets the glass down and comes back to the bed, sitting down next to Cas, their sides touching. Cas needs to understand something —something Dean’s never really been able to put into words. Now is not the time to find those words either, but nevertheless Dean sits struggling with it all while also wondering how he can find a way to figure out what happened tonight.

Before Dean can continue his thoughts, Cas slumps against his side, passing out.

Fuck.

Is this spell getting worse? Cas can’t die. Can he? _Can he?_

Dean lowers Cas so he’s lying on the bed, his feet still off the edge. Dean keeps looking at Cas. He’s practically immobilized with fear right now. He snaps out of it enough to do what he can do —make Cas more comfortable.

He takes his off shoes first and then stares at him a bit before rationalizing that his nice new sweater should come off as well. He’d hate for it to get ruined. Cas was so proud of it, and he does look really nice in it.

Dean places his palm on Cas’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall, feeling his heartbeat low and regular —does that matter for an angel? Cas is going to be just fine. _He has to be_.

Dean moves his hand further up to cradle his face, feel his pulse slowly beat just under his jaw. How many times have they danced to this song? _Too damn many times_, Dean thinks, and somehow, Cas thinks Dean finds him a burden.

Dean smooths his hand down Cas’s face, feeling the bristle, ghosting his thumb lightly along his chin, just below his dry lips.

Dean makes a promise to Cas then. When he wakes, Dean will make it clear that he’s not a burden. He might do dumbass things all the time, but, hell, they all do. Cas is Dean’s best friend. Dean keeps telling himself that to Cas, and anyone who’s listening, but Cas means more to him than anyone other than Sam. And his feelings for Cas are different than for a brother. They’re somehow more at times.

Fuck.

He should probably get that sweater off so it’s not ruined. Dean starts to work the sweater off Cas, leaving him wearing only in his white t-shirt. The shirt works itself up far enough for Dean to catch the Enochian tattoo on Cas’s abdomen. He ghosts his hand over the words before pulling the shirt down. Cas is still half off the bed so Dean pulls the covers down and makes short order of pulling Cas up the bed and, since it makes the only sense, quickly removes his pants before tucking him under the covers, clad only in his white t-shirt and boxers. Dean’s universe may have constricted to the size of a pinpoint for a nano-second when he sees Cas laying on his side half-naked, sleeping peacefully, before tucking the cheap motel covers under his chin. He smoothes the blankets and smoothes Cas’s hair down.

He then sets everything to right in the room, glancing at the sleeping angel every ten seconds. No change is good, right? _Probably not_, Dean counters —he could stay like this indefinitely, depending on the spell.

He goes over everything that happened in the evening. Dean didn’t see every person Cas talked to —the mayor and Johnny Rose for sure. His mind goes in circles for a bit. Without Cas filling in the details, anyone’s a suspect.

Dean eventually changes into more comfortable lounge pants and a t-shirt and sits down on the bed next to Cas. Easier to watch him, he tells himself. It’s getting late and Dean wants to stay awake in case something changes with Cas. He turns on the TV and flips through channels before settling on repeats of M*A*S*H. It’s going to be a long night.

***

The next thing Dean realizes he's waking to streaks of sunlight working their way through the motel curtains, his phone buzzing non-stop on the bedside table by his head. He’s also wrapped around Cas like a big spoon, his arms lightly draped around Cas’s middle, his face smooshed into the back of Cas’s neck.

_Shit, shit, shit_, he did not mean to fall asleep on Cas —he’s surprised that this is his first thought, and quietly thinks that it actually feels _nice_ lying with Cas like this.

Dean starts to pull away —to grab his phone that’s still vibrating. _Damn, Sam’s probably pissed he’s not answering._ As he pulls away, Cas turns towards him, shifting from lying on his side to on his back. He’s awake, eyes wide and hair more disheveled than ever.

“Dean.”

His voice is low, rough from oversleeping. Dean sits up on his elbow, looking down at Cas and brings his hand closer to touch him.

“Hey, hey, you’re awake.”

Cas pulls himself up so they’re both partially sitting up on their elbows in bed. He looks around the room, puzzled.

“What happened, Dean?”

“I think the witch whammied you. Are you ok?”

“I think so. I am tired, but feel fine.”

Dean brings his hand up to grasp Cas’s shoulder and at the last second, pulls him in for a tight hug.

It’s at this moment that Dean decides something. He pulls back to look at Cas, really look him in the eye. Cas isn’t going to read his wordless thoughts though and so Dean steels himself to say the things that he’s felt for a long time, but just has not had the ability to face.

“Cas, you scared me there last night. I didn’t know what was going on. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Dean, why are we in this bed together?”

“Long story. Listen, Cas, I need you to know something. You said some things last night that you probably don’t remember, and it made me realize that I’ve been unfair to you.” Dean pauses and collects his thoughts. “For so long, I’ve been trying to fit this mold, this idea, of who I should be. You came along and upended so much of what I believed. God, the world, what it means to trust and —you’re my family, Cas. You’re --you’re more than my family. You’re not a burden. If anything, you’ve brought a light into my life I didn’t know I needed. I need you to know that when I get mad, it’s because I’m worried. And… and I’m worried because you mean _everything_ to me. I don’t want to live without you.”

He chides himself on the timing. They’re in the middle of a case. Sam is probably minutes away from busting down their door and here they sit, both half-naked lying in bed and he’s confessing things like it’s their goddamn honeymoon— _which_ Dean thinks, _it kind of is_. He has more to say- so much more. He just isn’t sure how to form the words.

It doesn’t matter anyway because suddenly Cas moves closer to Dean and kisses him. It takes Dean by surprise, but he catches on pretty quickly and kisses him right back. It’s full of the unspoken words Dean can’t form. They pull apart to catch their breath, heads close, both looking down. Dean is feeling a bit bashful, if not exuberant over realizing that Cas knows exactly what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t have much time to overthink the moment. Cas moves in to kiss him again, pushing him to his back.

_Oh, oh, this is happening_, Dean thinks.

Cas’s hand cradles Dean’s face while their mouths move together. Dean puts his arm around Cas, quickly sliding it under his white tee, tracing the tattoos before gliding his hand over Cas’s lower back, pulling him closer.

Cas is lying fully on top of him now, their bodies aligned. A spark flashes deep in Dean’s belly when Cas starts to rut against him. He feels that Cas is hard against him. He’s quickly catching up to the game.

_Oh, oh, this is really happening_, he thinks.

He pulls back from the kiss to catch his breath. He looks at Cas, lips swollen and spit-slick. Without a thought, he flips Cas onto his back and now Dean’s on top. Through the thin layers of clothing, Dean feels Cas, feels how hard they both are and wants —he wants _more_. Dean kisses Cas again and moves down his neck. If this is happening, better not to think. Cas is acting on instinct, and Dean can, too. He wants this right _now_.

No words are said between them. There’s just short breaths and hearts beating fast. Dean stops kissing Cas and looks at him again. His pupils are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed. Dean groans at the sight.

He reaches down and skims his fingers along the edge of Cas’s boxers. He wants to touch Cas. He wants Cas to touch him. He skims his hand along the outline Cas’s cock and Cas chases his touch with a quick thrust. Dean’s head falls to the pillow beside him and he takes a moment. He pulls Cas’s boxers down, freeing him. Cas runs his hands up Dean’s ass and hooks his thumbs under his pants and boxers, pulling them down with one yank. _Oh, okay_. They are skin-to-skin now. Dean can feel how hot—how _hard_— Cas is under him. He moves his legs slightly so they fit better together. Dean is leaking pre-come and he wants nothing more than to rut against Cas until he forgets everything but how it feels to hold Cas and be with him.

Cas runs his hands up Dean’s back and then down to his hips, holding him steady while he thrusts up, the friction sending sparks up Dean’s spine. Dean kisses Cas again as he reaches between them, drawing them together. He forms a tight circle around their cocks and moves his hand up and down. There’s slight mewling noise from Cas. _God, this feels so good._ They’re both leaking and Dean strokes a little faster, pre-come easing the friction.

Cas moans a small, “Dean” and Dean kisses him again, their mouths open and sloppy, misaligned. Dean doesn’t care. This is a race and he is quickly approaching the finish line. He wants to last, but it’s all so new and it feels too good to slow down. He stops moving his hand and starts thrusting into the tight hole his hand has formed. Cas soon starts to mimic him, still holding lightly onto Dean’s hips.

Cas’s thrusts become erratic and Dean can tell he’s getting close. He moves his hand again and twists a little. Cas comes with a sigh, spilling over Dean’s hand and making a mess between them. Dean thrusts a few more times and comes with a cry of his own. His mind goes blank and he lies mostly on Cas. He moves to wipe his hand on the sheets before running it under Cas’s back, holding him tight. He rests his forehead on Cas’s for a beat before laying a final, quick kiss on his lips. They’re both breathing heavy and Dean doesn’t want to let the high subside, but it does. It always does.

****

_Okay, that was an unexpected, if not awesome, turn of events_, Dean muses. He makes eye contact with Cas then. Cas is wrecked. His lips are swollen and his eyes still reflect a mixture of confusion and elation. Dean smiles and starts to ask if Cas is still okay, but his phone pings a couple times in quick succession. _Damn, there’s still a case_. Dean pulls away from Cas to grab his phone and feels the drying stickiness between them.

“Ugh.” They both look down at Dean’s comment.

“Let me, Dean.” And Cas places his hand over Dean’s heart, mojo-ing them back to a state of cleanliness. Dean places his hand over Cas’s for a second before sitting up, back to the headboard, and grabbing his phone.

Dean reads through the texts before listening to his voicemail. Sam left five texts and three voicemails.

“Looks like the party’s over, “ he says, listening to the last voicemail. “Sam’s found the coven’s hideout and he’s a little freaked out that I didn’t answer his calls.”

“You should call him. Let him know we are alright.” He pauses, and adds, “More than alright. I will gather our things.”

Cas sits up then to exit the bed. Dean grabs his arm lightly.

“We are alright.”

Cas looks at him and places a quick, chaste kiss on his lips that leaves Dean buzzing for a moment.

Dean calls Sam and his frantic brother answers on the first ring.

“Dean, where have you been?! I’ve called and texted. I had half a mind to blow my cover to come back for you guys. You okay?”

“Yeah, Sam.” His voice is still a little dreamy and he forces himself to harden it before continuing. “The witch did something to Cas. I’ve been watching him all night. He’s fine now. We’ll meet you, okay?”

Relieved, Sam gives Dean his location and Dean gets out of bed to help Cas. If it all goes well, they won’t be coming back.

They pack quickly, not having much stuff to begin with. Cas’s sweater ends up in Dean’s bag —maybe Cas’ll want it later as a costume on another hunt — or as a change-up around the bunker.

Dean looks over at Cas, wearing his familiar trench coat once again.

“You ready?”

“Yes. Dean, what exactly are we getting ourselves into?”

“I don’t know. I think this town is blissfully unaware of what lurks around them. It’s all tied to the Schitt and Rose families, and yet the mayor just seems like an obnoxious hick and his wife seems like a small town sweetheart. And the Rose family? If they’re working with witches, they’re doing a piss-poor job of it.”

“What about the store? You had suspicions.”

“Yeah, well, I have doubts. I wasn’t thinking straight. The event last night was popular, and despite what happened with you, it doesn’t change that fact. Let’s roll out of here and you can fill me in on your evening. “

“I only remember the beginning. I was very drunk.”

“You were something.”

Dean grabs his duffel and together they leave the motel, Dean trailing Cas, with a hand on his back.

***

The sun is up but it’s still early. There’s dew on the grass and aside from birds chirping in the distance, there’s only silence from the motel inhabitants around them.

It’s been less than a day, but Dean is more than happy to get behind the wheel of the Impala again. He’s also relieved that he didn’t listen to Sam about purposefully hurting her. He looks over at Cas when he starts the engine. She starts to purr instantly and they pull out onto the road, off to find Sam.

“Good thing our cover story was a waste of time. I didn’t have to hurt my baby. Sam’s doing dishes for the next month for that idea.”

“It wasn’t a complete waste.”

Dean glances at Cas, who is staring forward but moves to look back at him.

“No. It wasn’t.” Dean blushes and turns back to the road.

“So, who did that to you last night? It happened in the town limits, not the usual MO.”

“Hm, I was thinking about that. I am an angel, and spells affect me differently. They often are more rapid-acting and manifest differently as well. I had two glasses of wine —one meant for you and one meant for me. We’ll never know but what if this would have worked much slower on you —allowing you to go back to your hotel room —or be on the road out of Schitt’s Creek —killing you hours after the fact?”

Dean’s stomach flips. That made a lot of sense for a theory.

“Whatever it was wouldn’t kill you because you’re an angel. They didn’t know that.”

“Exactly.”

“Why’d it wear off? Rowena’s Attack Dog spell just dug in deeper.”

“Well, maybe it couldn’t do what it was made to do —kill me. We should call Rowena to get her help.”

“She’s with Sam now.”

There was a pause from both of them, and then almost instantly, they both asked, “What’s going on there?”

They both laugh, and Cas adds, “I’m sure they’re just good friends.”

“Yeah, best buds.” Dean put his hand out on the seat between them and Cas put his hand on Dean’s. Dean squeezes and keeps it there.

. Dean fills Cas in on the little information that Sam was able to collect while he drives. 

“I feel woefully unprepared for what’s in store. These deaths have been happening on and off for hundreds of years. What could possibly be the motivation for the random killings of travelers?”

“Maybe it’s like Temple of Doom. You know, the Thuggee cult was real —nothing like the movie, but a band of Kali worshipers that killed travelers for their god.”

“I know, Dean. You never fail to mention it when we watch that movie.”

Dean grunts. It is an interesting piece of history.

“But let’s say that’s what’s happening. Who are the witches indebted to —and why?”

“Well I’m banking on the stories the waitress was telling Sam.”

Dean pauses while he parks the car off the road a little way from the barn. It’s another sunny, bright, and beautiful day but the woods around them is thick and shadows dance along the path to the barn. Sam and Rowena are around and he sends a quick text for an exact location. He doesn’t see another vehicle around. They start walking and come to the clearing around the barn. The barn seems abandoned but the grass is maintained and clutter free. About a hundred yards from the barn there’s a copse of trees. Dean and Cas find Sam and Rowena there.

There’s a silent acknowledgment all around. Together the group creep silently to the barn and slip inside.

Inside, the barn is dark. Dean turns on the flashlight he grabbed from the trunk of the Impala and draws his gun, conveniently loaded with witch-killing bullets. Cas is following close behind, arm outstretched, a warm yellow light emanating from his hand. Rowena and Sam follow in quick succession. The barn is dusty and unused. Old hay bales litter corners in haphazard piles of varying decay. It seems like no one has entered the place in a very long time.

There’s a staircase going up to the hayloft off to the left and two smaller rooms off to the right. Dean and Sam quickly check out each room to find more unused barn equipment, a milking shed, and a granary. Nothing seems to indicate that anything is amiss here. There’s a horse stable at the back of the barn, but even that is empty. Dean motions with his gun towards the staircase and starts weaving through the milking stands, carefully sidestepping stray cans and bottles. Sam follows while Cas and Rowena hang back scoping the rest of the lower level. 

They both creep up the stairs, the wooden steps groan with their weight. There’s a wooden door in the ceiling that Dean slowly lifts. It’s even darker in the hayloft. It’s wide open and very high-ceilinged. There’s nobody up there. There is, however, an elaborately decorated altar. Sam runs back down the stairs to summon both Cas and Rowena. The four of them head for the altar.

The altar is a large circular table draped in rich red cloth. It spans a large portion of the right side of the hayloft. There are candles scattered around the table and a large goblet centering it. There are sachets and pine cones and various bits of bark and piles of dirt also scattered across the altar.

“Well, you were right, Sam. Now when’s the next council meeting?” Dean asks, breaking the silence.

Rowena wanders over to the table, picking up the pieces and looking them over.

Sam walks over to her. Standing close, he looks down at her. “What do you think?”

“This is all a quite unique assortment of items. This is old magic. As old as me, if not older. I can feel it.” She looks back at Sam, and purses her lips. “I haven’t seen this type of magic since the Old Country, and this is different, the likes of which I’ve not seen before.”

“Great,” Dean mutters.

Cas starts walking around the table, picking up assorted items and carefully putting them down again.

“How do these items work on killing people from afar?”

“I don’t think they do, “ Sam says. He points to a smaller bowl with ground ingredients inside. “Probably poison.”

“Nothing was on the toxicology report for the two vics though.”

“Maybe that’s what the poison does. If we can go off what happened with Cas — it makes someone feel drunk or out of it or they go back to their motel room to rest, or to their car, and die. Having done its job the poison wears off, disappears. It couldn’t kill Cas so it just wore off on him. Cas, who gave you the wine in the first place?”

“Uh, it was Gwen, the mechanic’s wife. One for me and one for my very pretty husband.”

“Husband?” Rowena interrupts.

“I didn’t tell you? These two got hitched.” Sam smirks.

“Dean and I were int…”

“Okay, okay, let’s put a pin in this. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. One, do you think this ties to the hex bag with no power, Cas? If it did what it was supposed to do, then its power would disappear, right? And B, is Gwen a witch? Why murder travelers? Who do they worship? How do we stop it?”

“I think we should track down Gwen —see who she’s involved with. I think we should also maybe go back and talk with Twyla again too.”

“Who’s Twyla?” Cas and Rowena ask in unison.

Sam looks over at Rowena and clears his throat.

“She’s the local diner’s owner. She’s filled in a lot of the missing gaps that the newspapers didn’t cover when it comes to the history of this town. She has a book —unpublished, but seemingly accurate. She knew all about the Schitt family witches.”

“Okay, Cas, you and Rowena track down Gwen. Sam and me will find Twyla.”

“Dean,” Cas says as he continues to fiddle with items on the altar. “Be careful.”

Dean’s face heats a bit, but he nods. “Stay in touch you two.”

***

Sam and Dean head to Cafe Tropical, the logical start to tracking down Twyla. They find her behind the counter when they reach the cafe. Dean recognizes her as their waitress from the night before and realizes Cas and him kind of did a piss poor job of getting to know the locals. They were a little distracted which is why Dean wanted to take this part of the case with Sam. Cas is a distraction.

The diner is mostly empty —it being after the breakfast crowd but too soon for lunch, but there is a smattering of people in the booths and a woman, faced away from the brothers, sitting at the counter talking with Twyla.

Dean and Sam approach the counter and Dean can overhear their conversation —something about girl’s night and David and Patrick being ‘too much’. Dean glances over at the woman when they reach the counter.

Alexis Rose.

“Well, isn’t this your lucky day, “ Sam murmurs beside him. “Don’t get distracted. We’re on a case.”

Dean scowls back at his brother. If only Sam knew. Dean gulps, realizing Sam will know soon enough. First they need to get Alexis away from Twyla to ask Twyla more about this town and its history of witchcraft.

Sam waves and smiles at Twyla to get her attention. Twyla beams back at him which causes Alexis to look over. Her mouth falls open.

“Twy! Have you been holding out on me?”

“Alexis, this is Sam.” She points at Sam and then looks over at Dean, confused. “And I don’t know you.”

“Dean.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Dean. I’m Alexis, Twyla’s best friend. Are you and Sam here new to town?”

“Umm, just passing through.”

Dean is surprisingly cold around Alexis. He doubts it has nothing to do with what he got up to with Cas that morning or his newly revealed-feelings for the angel.

He smiles sideways at her but focuses on Twyla. They need more information if they’re going to find out what’s really going on. Sam’s on it and is already casually chatting with Twyla when Dean refocus on them.

“I’m off in five minutes. I could show you if you’d like.”

“That would be great actually.”

“Ooh, an adventure. I want to come. Twy, what are we doing?”

“Sam was just asking about a book my gran had that was all about the Schitt family history. She gave it to my aunt who then gave it to me when her now ex-husband joined a traveling troubadour band. Said it’d probably come in handy one day. It’s just big and old and makes my bookshelf look nicer with it.”

“Hmm, okay, if you’re going to be talking about books, then that’s a no for me. I will see you later.” She looks Dean up and down then and adds, “And you’ve been a nice distraction.”

She hums cheerily and leaves as Sam and Twyla agree to meet outside in five minutes.

Dean and Sam head outside to wait for Twyla. They’re barely out the door before Sam bursts out with surprise, “Dude, you had a chance there, why didn’t you go for it?”

“C’mon man, we’re on a case. Imminent death is more important, don’t you think?”

“You could have at least got her number for after.”

“Not interested.”

“Not interested? She’s the whole reason I got you to come on this case!”

“Not interested.” Dean repeats, his face heating slightly. He’s going to have to spoil to Sam sooner than later. What’s the hold up?

They are waiting outside the cafe around the corner from the front at this point.

“Cas and me kind of figured some things out.”

Sam stares at Dean for a beat before smiling slightly and nodding his head, looking down, away from Dean and his increasingly heated face.

“Oh. Good. I’m happy for you.”

Before anything more is said, Twyla shows up.

Sam nods at her appearance and adds, “We really appreciate you showing us the book, Twyla.”

“Oh, no problem. Why anyone thinks it’s a good idea to write about this little town is beyond me. It hasn’t changed in generations— well except when the Rose family arrived, I guess.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks.

“It’s just, nothing ever changes here. People leave town and their lives get better. People stay here, their lives go nowhere. The Rose family though, they’re making this town better.”

“Hmm.”

The brothers glare at each other and Dean can tell Sam has an idea but can’t say anything in front of Twyla. Better she knows as little as possible at this point.

Dean’s phone buzzes as they walk. It’s a text from Cas.

FOUND GWEN AT LIBRARY.

Okay, so the two least-conspicuous detectives have an eye on their mark. Hopefully, Sam’s idea of drawing more information out of Twyla and this book she has will help with what they’re dealing with besides a nature loving group of witches.

They reach Twyla’s pace in a relative short time. She’s surprisingly open and willing to share almost anything with the brothers. They learn way more about her family history than necessary but Sam makes another weird noise when she talks about her family moving here in the early 1900’s only to lose a number of family members. They almost packed up and moved again but didn’t due to a great-great aunt’s whisky distillery modestly taking off during prohibition.

Sam starts leafing through the book —it’s old, leather bound, and the pages are frail, but it’s still readable.

Twyla is chatting away while Sam reads. Dean nods accordingly but isn’t paying too much attention.

He’s thinking about the coven though, and why sacrifices are being made —and how the town continues to not prosper. Shouldn’t it be the opposite? If the Schitt family is tied to this?

Sam’s phone starts to buzz.

“Hey, Rowena, we’ve got the book —,”

Rowena cuts Sam off, and Dean can hear her through the phone.

“They’ve taken him, Sam! I turn my back on Castiel for one second and he’s gone!”

“Okay, okay, you know for sure he was taken? Not just wandered off?” Sam asks, and Dean’s heart plummets.

Rowena lowers her voice for the rest of the conversation, which isn’t long. Sam gets off the phone and indicates they need to leave.

“Twyla, you’ve been really helpful with our research. Can I ask one more favor?” Sam asks.

Twyla nods, looking intrigued but confused.

“Can we borrow this book for a bit? I promise to return it.”

“Sure. What’s this all about? You have a friend that was kidnapped? And you’ve all been researching the Schitt family? I hope this has nothing to do with the coven of witches that are supposedly active now that Jocelyn is pregnant again.” She says this kind of dreamily like it isn’t the massive bombshell that it is.

Dean and Sam look at each other. “We’re going to need you to come with us. Now.” Dean demands as he heads for the door.

“Oh, um, okay.”

“And you’re going to have to tell us everything you know about what’s been going on in this town.” Sam follows up with a smile.

***

Dean’s out the door and sliding behind the driver’s seat before the other two. He’s itching to go. God knows what’s happening with Cas. Damnit, he shouldn’t have left him alone. _He wasn’t alone_, he reminds himself._ And he’s a whole-ass angel capable of taking care of himself_, he also reminds himself. He tempers his anger, but anxiety still swirls through his mind as Sam and Twyla get in the Impala.

“Rowena’s going to meet us at the barn. It’s the only place that makes sense to start,” Sam says, and then looks back at Twyla. “Unless you know where else this coven hides out.”

“You two sure are comfortable with the witches in town. Most people just laugh at the idea and look confused.”

“Let’s just say that we’ve had experience with them in the past.” Dean straightens in the seat and accelerates a little more.

“So, let’s just set the record straight, the Schitt family has been associating with witches since at least Salem, and now that Jocelyn Schitt is pregnant, they’re active again? What did you mean by pregnant _again_?”

“Well, the coven was last active when Mutt was born in 1991, I want to say. They don’t really do anything. It’s just, we know they’re around because another generation of the Schitt family is about to be born.” Twyla continues to say these groundbreaking things like they’re just part of a regular day.

Sam starts scrolling through his tablet and stops at a point.

“Dean, she’s right. The murders last happened in 1991. I thought it had something to do with the Rose family buying the property, but I think it had more to do with Roland and Jocelyn’s first child, Mutt.”

From the back, Dean hears a garbled gasp. “Murders?! Who are you two?”

“Twyla, we’re Sam and Dean Winchester. We hunt monsters and demons —and the occasional witch. This little town coven that pops up every generation isn’t as innocent as you may think. Outsiders and tourists are dying. Two so far in the past week. More will come until this baby is born if the pattern of past deaths stay true.”

Dean looks in the rearview mirror to see Twyla sitting in mute astonishment.

“Sam, I think you broke her.”

They had reached the barn by then and Dean pulls the car over. Rowena is waiting in the shadows and comes out when she sees the trio emerge.

“And who do we have here, boys?”

A still very stunned Twyla is standing between the brothers. Dean looks over at her and puts his hand on her shoulder in comfort.

“Twyla, this is Rowena, she’s a witch and a friend. Rowena, this is Twyla, she knows more about this town and its coven than I originally thought. She’s here to help.” He then looks expectantly over at the waitress. “You up for this?”

“Wait, are there really good witches and bad witches?” Twyla ponders.

“Well, the jury’s still out on this one,” Dean says, with a wry grin.

“Bite your tongue, boy.” Rowena threatens, as she walks towards Twyla, looping their arms together. “C’mon, sweetie, you’re about to watch a grand witch and her minion hunters rescue an angel and free this town from all things that despair it.”

“An angel?” Twyla quietly mumbles.

The four of them slowly creep towards the barn.

As they enter, Sam and Dean pull their guns. It’s dark inside and seemingly void of activity. They slowly creep along the stalls, working their way carefully to the staircase leading to the hayloft. If they’re here, and there’s going to be a sacrifice, they’re more than likely at their altar. Dust falls from the ceiling as they walk and muffled noises start to emanate from above them.

They head up the stairs, one at a time, with Dean going first and Sam on his six. Dean’s wishing they had time to read the book a little more so Twyla wouldn’t have to be here, but if all goes well, she’ll just get a nice view of what hunters do on the regular. Sam covers Dean as they open the door. It’s quiet, but still obvious enough for the group of people in the hayloft. The brothers are fast enough though to have their guns ready and on mark as several hooded people turn on them.

The whole hayloft is lit with golden light. There’s still shadows in far corners, but the front of the room, where Cas is now laid out on the table, is lit with candles. There’s a group of about ten people, four men and six women. One is holding a spell book while another adds ingredients to a large bowl beside Cas. Gwen is there, standing off from the others.

Dean scans the room as fast as he can, adrenaline kicking in when he sees Cas at the mercy of the coven. It seems they really do want these travelers dead. A few of the witches start to run towards them and Dean wastes a bullet and shoots it into the ceiling.

“Hold it right there!”

The place freezes and Dean retrains his gun on the few who crept closer to him and Sam.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” A taller man in a dark robe demands.

“We’re Sam and Dean Winchester and you’ve got a buddy of ours tied up over there. We’re going to have you free him, and then we’re going to have you disband your merry band of killers here.”

Chaos kind of erupts at that point when Dean hears from behind him a startled Twyla gasp, “Gwen?”

The group starts moving in different directions and Dean sees a glint of something to his right. Gwen moves quickly and is on Cas before Dean has time to react. Thankfully Sam sees her move and runs to tackle her before she’s able to stab Cas. They fall to the floor and the silver knife she held clatters to the floor beside the table.

Rowena makes her appearance known at this point and ineffective spells are cast back and forth. The witches, not realizing who Rowena is, are shocked. One man storms at Dean, taunting him that bullets can’t stop them. Dean shoots him dead, eyes already scanning the rest of the room. A few see that Dean means real business and will kill if necessary, so they pause. Dean sees Cas untie himself and start to work his way off the table, angel blade in hand. Sam ties Gwen to the table and is scanning the others. Rowena knocks a few more witches out as well.

The witch at the front of the altar, the one with the book, sets it down and bellows for a rest.

“ENOUGH! How dare you enter this place!” His voice fills the room and silence follows. Dean, Sam, Cas, and Rowena forming a line against the remaining witches.

“We’re in the business of making sure your lot doesn’t exist.”

“You dare come to our town —the town we’ve been protecting for over one hundred years, and destroy all that matters?”

“Protecting is a funny word for ritualistically killing people.” Dean looks over at Cas for a second, giving him a silent look of concern.

“The Schitt family and the town it inhabits are sacred. We’ve done the bidding of Leabharcham for hundreds of years. Wherever the Schitt family settles, and whenever a new generation is born to the Schitt family, we form again to protect the natural world —to protect this family from intruders and the encroaching corrupt world.”

“Lev-a-what?”

“Dean, it’s the legend of Deidre. She was Deidre’s caretaker. She lived in the forest and protected her from the world,” Sam says.

“And in the legend, Leabharcham protects Deidre even when she runs away, men die and then Deidre dies,” Rowena adds.

“If that lore is true, this is different. Leabharcham wasn’t evil. She was a wise old woman and caretaker. I’m guessing this bit of lore has been corrupted in the new world”

Dean does some quick thinking but isn’t completely sure how this all adds up.

The main witch fills in some more blanks.

“We’ve descended from a group of druids and we protect this natural world for the greater good.”

Dean chokes a bit, looking over at Cas. _The greater good!_

“Stay focused, man,” Sam mutters beside him.

“But why the Schitt family?” Cas asks.

“They invoked us hundreds of years ago after immigrating here from Ireland. When they’ve been driven from a home or chosen to find a new place to settle, we’ve followed, keeping the natural world around their town.”

“More like keeping the town from prospering —keeping the people depressed and oblivious to how much better things could be,” Dean says.

“And why is she here?” Cas points to Gwen, still tied up to the table.

“She’s under our spell, to do our bidding, to keep the town safe. Every generation, we find a new helper. It is custom.”

“Well, your party’s over. We’re shutting you down.”

The four of them start to move closer to the group of witches.

“You can’t! You won’t!” Gwen yells, twisting around where she’s tied.

It’s just enough distraction for the robed witch with the book to throw a final ingredient into the altar’s bowl, sending up a giant plume of green smoke. Dean and Sam both fire, killing him instantly. It’s too late though and there’s a thunderous noise, the wind picks up, and the floor starts to rumble under them.

Rowena stands her ground, seemingly understanding what’s happening. Her arms flare out and her eyes flash purple and she starts to chant as an entity starts to form in the air above the table. The remaining witches crowd closer to the hunters.

Twyla runs up to Sam while all of this is happening and points to the open book in her hand. The Schitt family history. Dean watches Sam read what she points to and grabs the book from her. Twyla retreats again and Sam makes his way to Rowena. The entity, clearly forming to be a woman — Leabharcham, or whatever this warped new world version existing in the wilds of upstate New York is—blasts Rowena back. Sam makes his way to her, helping her up again and showing her the book. Dean pulls the other witches back, leaving Gwen still tied to the table, still in danger with what’s happening before their eyes. Cas sees this and runs towards her —towards the danger. Dean can’t believe it! Cas frees her though and safely pulls her back with the others.

Together, Sam and Rowena start an incantation that’s from the book. Leabharcham cries out and flares a bright green —so bright Dean has to shield his eyes. There’s a great popping noise and suddenly the room stills, the dust slowly settling around them. Everything is normal again, relatively speaking, Dean thinks.

“Is it gone? What did you two just do?” Dean asks.

“The book has a ‘recipe’ in the front. It’s a spell though —a conjuring spell. We reversed it.” Sam says.

“And I added a permanence spell, banishing her forever,” Rowena adds.

Dean looks around. The remaining members of the coven are standing, not putting up a fight now that what they’ve been worshiping for generations seems to be gone. It’s really over. He looks over at Cas and smiles. The dumbass doesn’t even have a scratch on him this time. Cas looks back at him, squinting.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” He just walks over to Cas and gives him a tight hug. He pulls back and adds, “Although I thought you were going to stop being a dumbass on cases.”

“I made no such promise, Dean.”

Dean smiles and looks around at the rest of the room. Sam is helping Gwen up from the floor. She looks perplexed and back to normal, the spell clearly breaking with the destruction of Leabharcham and the head of the coven. Rowena has made her way over to Twyla and is quietly talking to her.

Dean looks at the rest of the coven. They’re whispering to each other. He makes his way over to them and looks them over.

“We’re done here. Got it? Disperse. End of story.”

They nod. There’s nothing more for them anyway.

They all make it out of the barn slowly. Sam helps Gwen while Rowena and Twyla walk conspiratorially close together. Dean and Cas follow the rest of the group.

***

It’s late afternoon when they make it outside, the sun setting low in the glowing orange sky. Gwen doesn’t remember a thing about what she did under the coven’s spell —which is for the best. She is baffled why she’s at the barn and Twyla steps in to explain that it was just a family reunion that Gwen agreed to go to with Twyla. She smiles and winks conspiratorially at Sam and Dean while she guides Gwen down the path to the cars.

Gwen’s car is there and Twyla guides her to the passenger seat, closing the door before heading back to Dean and the others.

“People are not going to believe the day I’ve had,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Yeah, well, you might not want to share this with others. The town is blissfully unaware about what’s happened around them all these years. Probably should stay that way.” Dean advises.

“Does this mean that the ghosts haunting the town are real then too?”

Sam and Dean share a knowing glance at each other, eyebrows raised. Someone should probably tackle that situation, but it isn’t going to be them today. 

“No, no, no. Nothing to worry about there.”

“Will the town be ok, you think?”

“I do. I can’t prove anything but I think the town was already starting to be inoculated against Leabharcham when the Rose family moved to town. They’ve started to turn things around for themselves —and those that they help in Schitt’s Creek,” Sam says. “Now everyone will be free to prosper.”

“That’s really great to hear,” Twyla ends, lightly. “Well, I better get Gwen home. Bob’s probably just sitting in his car waiting for her to come home and unlock the door for him.”

With a final thank you, Twyla takes off to deliver Gwen safely home.

***

Once the four of them are alone, Sam and Rowena quickly decide that they’ll travel back to the bunker in Rowena’s car. They share quick smiles with each other and make their goodbyes, driving off together, leaving Dean and Cas to ponder once again what’s going on there.

Dean looks at Cas after they disappear down the road.

“Well, there’s still time left in the day. Might as well get some road behind us while it's still daylight if you want.”

Cas smiles at Dean and nods. “That sounds like a good idea, if you’re not too tired. I can always drive, if you’d like to rest.”

“Nah, I’m good. All things considered, I had a pretty restful night.”

At the thought of sleeping next to Cas, Dean starts to feel nervous again. The adrenaline of the hunt is gone, and Dean’s self-doubt starts to creep in again.

“We’re good, right?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Self-preservation.”

Cas looks fondly at Dean and puts his hands in his coat pockets turning to start walking to the passenger side of the Impala. He stops and pulls something out from one of his pockets.

“Dean, I have something I want to give you.”

Cas hands Dean a piece of paper. Dean looks down at it and it seems blank so he turns it over to find words on it.

_To Dean, may your peregrinations of life be filled with blithesome junctures and commodious lodgings. --Warmest Regards, Moira Rose_

Dean’s mouth falls agape and he looks up at Cas.

“When did you get this?”

“When we first got to the motel. I recognized her and thought you’d like one of your favorite television star’s autographs.”

Dean’s a little speechless. It’s a small gesture but Dean is overwhelmed with the sentiment.

“Uh, thank you.”

Feeling the moment deserves something more, he looks up at Cas then and walks to him. He cups his face with both of his hands and draws Cas in for a quick kiss. He pulls back just enough to mumble thanks again before kissing him again, this time a little longer. This time Cas kisses back. They stay that way for a while, bodies close, lost in the feeling of each other’s lips and scruff and hands and breath. Cas pulls away briefly at one point and comments, “We really do enjoy kissing.”

Dean crowds in closer, barely uttering, “Damn straight.”

He eventually pulls away to look at Cas again.

Cas is inches away and too good to be true, in Dean’s assessment. He honestly doesn’t know what the delay was in letting himself feel this way for Cas. This weird little town with its mostly quirky, but always kind people maybe has more magic in it than just a coven of witches.

“Let’s go home, Cas. This time I promise to talk —and if you’re lucky maybe you’ll get to listen to me sing along to every song on the radio, too.”

Dean grins and Cas rolls his eyes. They get in the car and hit the road, together.


End file.
